That Would Be Illogical
by Peachly
Summary: K/S Series of lighthearted, sexy fluff. "Of course this is not the first illogical action I have ever participated in because of James Tiberius Kirk. I doubt it will be the last."
1. Reading

Reclining in bed and reading a fictional novel had not initially been one of my customary activities. I had deemed it a waste of time, time that could be better spent writing and finalizing reports, continuing work on experiments, checking the ship's status or scanning for anomalies in the vast uncharted space that the _Enterprise_ travels through. Perhaps if I completed all of my duties and found myself with a cleared schedule would I then resort to sitting down and reading. The material would most likely only be reports or technical journals that pertained to the current or upcoming mission. However, this problem has never arisen since I always have an abundance of tasks. Idly sitting to pass the time is unproductive and illogical.

Of course this is not the first illogical action I have ever participated in because of James Tiberius Kirk. I doubt it will be the last.

Being a Vulcan and requiring less sleep, I usually awake an average of 3.2 Standard hours before Jim. I have grown attached to him in such a way that impedes me from removing myself from our bed while he sleeps. I find the warmth of the bed coupled with the steady tempo of his breathing very calming. Rather than let my mind wander, it has become habit for me to place a PADD with novels loaded into its memory on the bedside table. This has not always proven successful however. Especially if Jim is in a more feral mood and I awake to find it lying across the floor. Over a span of three years, four PADDs have been broken in such a way.

It has been 2.7 hours since I first awoke. He is still asleep beside me. Given our activities last night – which had been more vigorous than is common because of a long 'dry spell' caused by a long string of missions with little to no time in-between – his body no doubt needs all the rest it can get. I am on the last pages of a novel recommended by Nyota.

I had been slightly apprehensive to attempt to read her latest suggestion. She often gives me poetic titles written in an older version of Standard. The first few had been early 17th century Terran plays by William Shakespeare. He is often quoted by Terrans and is well known throughout the galaxy as an exceptional writer with most of his work translated into many alien languages. I agreed to read them without hesitation.

I find current human idioms difficult to comprehend, but I can normally surmise their meanings well enough if they are given in context. Even Jim, who never likes to admit intellectual weakness, confessed that he couldn't make it through a page of any Shakespeare play unless it was heavily annotated. I had promptly abandoned the endeavor.

Once I was finished I placed the PADD down, deciding against starting another novel in favor of observing Jim sleep. My choice yielded disappointing results as he was fully covered by bedding, which obscured his attractive form. He appears to be sleeping on his side, facing away from me. Only his untidy blond hair is visible. I reach out and gently stroke it. He stirs then turns over onto his back, whipping his right arm over and startling me as it and his shoulder land on my covered lap. The movement has removed the bedding from his toned midsection. Affection bubbles in my stomach and I fail to resist the urge to trail my fingers up his smooth abdomen and chest. His skin is uncommonly warm, a result from the insulation the covers provided.

My touch causes him to rouse from his sleep. "How long until Alpha Shift starts?" he groans, arching his back to loosen his stiff muscles.

One of my eyebrows rose as I look down at him in mild amusement. "Alpha Shift begins in 3 days, 22 hours, 23 minutes and 38 seconds."

After a long pause, which can be assumed to be the amount of time that had been required for his drowsy mind to fully comprehend my response, his eyes shoot open and he takes in his surroundings.

The hotel room is sparsely decorated, themed in the colors of bright, clean white and creamed coffee. It is a corner room, so two of the walls contain many large windows that flood in the morning sunlight through thin crisp drapes. Only one large featureless painting hangs on the wall above the drawers next to the bathroom. The bed we slept in is a large metal-framed king with an oversized puffy duvet. When we had first entered the room last evening, I noted and enjoyed the simplicity of it; Jim had only seemed interesting in the quality of the bed.

He looked up at me, smirking. "Yanno, you could have just said that we were on shore leave and that I didn't have to worry about it."

"That was not the question you posed." I replied simply.

Jim chuckles and closes his eyes again. I continue to look down at him, a golden body, glowing from sunlight. He is starkly contrasting to the white room and my own pale skin.

"How long have you been up?"

"Approximately 3.1 hours."

"You weren't reading that sissy stuff Uhura gave you, were you?"

I tilt my head slightly. "Sissy?"

"Yeah, you know." Jim gestured his hand in a lazy circular motion. "Chick stuff. Not macho, manly stuff."

"If you are referring to a romance genre book that is more often read by females than males, then yes, I was." When he frowned, I decided to explain. "I find all of the books' aspects completely illogical and therefore rather fascinating."

He looks up at me again and graces me with a large smile that causes my chest to constrict. He gets up and positions himself over me under the duvet, grabbing both of my hands and intertwining our fingers. My body tenses. A torrent of Jim's emotions – arousal, fondness, happiness, love – travels through our fingers' contact as he begins to trail kisses along the edge of one of the pointed ears he finds so captivating. "I thought spending all this sexy time with such an illogical human would be enough to satisfy your curiosities. If it's not enough, I'm sure I can give you more to work with."

I do not respond. I cannot. Jim's emotions flood my mind, suffocating me with a warm and overpowering embrace. My eyes are closed. My heartbeat has quickened, and my breathing has become heavier. It takes all of my control not to tremble. My emotional restraining capacities are soon overcome and my body starts to relax. I let out a small moan.

I feel his lips form into a smile along my jaw line. That was all the encouragement he needed, all the evidence he needed to know I would not stop him. He presses his naked body against mine causing us to sink deeper into the pillows.

As his lips travel down my neck a loud gurgling sound breaks the silence. He pauses and my eyes shoot open. It was enough of a distraction for me to regain my mental capabilities. I tense again. Freeing my hands and seizing Jim's shoulders, I push him back to arm's length.

"You require sustenance."

He frowns at me with pouting lips, engrossing blue eyes flickering with his excitement. "Some things take priority over eating, Spock."

His argument, as illogical as it already was, was undermined further by the sound of his stomach a second and louder time.

One of my eyebrows rises to conveying my skepticism. He glares down at his abdomen as if to accuse it of mutiny.

He finally sighs and retreats off of me. "Alright, fine. We'll get breakfast." He crawls off the bed to go to the bathroom, but not before pointing a stern finger at me. "This _will_ be continued later."

I give a small smile and a slight nod. "I look forward to it."

Jim groans in a disappointed manner and walks into the bathroom, muttering about how I am a 'cocktease'.

Then he disappears behind the closed door I let out a breath I did not realize I had been holding.

It is not that I find our acts of intimacy not enjoyable. On the contrary, I derive as much pleasure from them as he does. I have initiated it on numerous occasions. It is also not that I am ashamed of the emotions he stirs within me. I had come to terms with an undeniable fact a year into your intimate relationship – I was never going to be able to retain complete control over my emotions when I was with him. This knowledge had initially caused some fear in me; after all, we spend a large amount of time in each other's company. Jim, however, is professional enough to refrain from purposefully causing emotions in me while on duty.

So it is not that I do not desire to engage in intercourse; I merely do not want to lose all of my mental sensibilities so early in the day. And if I gave into Jim every time he was aroused we would most likely never leave the bed.

He claims in his defense that it is difficult to 'keep it in his pants' when he's not wearing any. I must admit it has some logical merit. But not much.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So I have no idea what will become of this. Series? Drabbles? An actual plot line? I'm leaning towards a series of stories about Spock doing illogical things because of Jim. It would be very hard to run out of ideas for that broad concept. Although if I'm trying to be original, it may be easy. To run out of ideas, that is.

Anyway, let me know what you think! I'd love to hear your opinions. Everyone seem in character? Do the sentences seem overly complicated? Sounding like Spock can be hard. Logical, pointy-eared bastard. I should probably get Bones into the mix... hopefully doing more than looking disgusted and grumbling like a lot of fan fiction.

Thanks for reading!

Peachly


	2. Chess

Jim plays an extremely irritating game of chess.

I stare at the 3D board with more intensity in my eyes than I would like to admit. Jim is leaning back in his chair on the other side of the desk in his quarters, his hands up and behind his head. A large smirk is plastered on his face. He knows I am stuck and he knows he is going to win once more.

Jim had only been familiar with 2D chess until I introduced him to tiered chess. I won the first four matches when he was still familiarizing himself with the game. But he has a high learning curve, and for the past four years, he has managed to win every game ever since.

His strategy is simplicity hidden in chaos. It always appears as if he is moving pieces randomly, but there is a method to his madness. Every piece becomes a threat and causes me to overanalyze all of the possibilities when I am attempting to discern his next move. He always manages to surprise me.

While Jim and I are different on many levels, we both refuse to back down from a challenge. I have changed my strategy many times. I have attempted to enter the game with one strategy then switch mid-way through. I have studied different techniques and traps in the computer library. He sees through them all, which leads me to assume he has done his own research. I have attempted to look as many moves ahead as my brain would allow. I have attempted to only look a few moves ahead. I thought perhaps he prepared for many scenarios so I moved my pieces against one strategy, expecting a second one. He had foreseen this and I lost once again. Nothing I do appears to faze Jim and his winning streak.

"Can you lose faster?" he asks innocently. "I still have reports to finish."

I glare up at him. His smirk merely grows.

I look back down. He will have me in four moves.

I suddenly gain a new insight. My eyes widen slightly as I move one of my rooks from the second tier to the third.

Jim's grin fades slightly as he looks at my move. He leans in and studies the board, a thoughtful stare replacing the obnoxious smirk.

In reality, my move was completely random and totally illogical. It now allows him to checkmate me in only two moves.

But I do not make arbitrary moves. I always have a logical set of moves in mind. Jim is looking for something that does not exist. He is assuming I see something that he does not. He makes the wrong move.

The game _does_ end in another four moves, but I am not the one checkmated.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Because it is an unwritten rule that every Star Trek fan fiction must include at least one game of chess. I have another chess idea... but we'll see if that manages to materialize itself or not. Just a quick little blerp I thought up in lieu of studying. My other posts will be longer than this. There will probably usually be more time in between updates too, so don't be getting any crazy ideas that I'm productive and timely. I just felt like sharing this one, 'cause I like it.


	3. Diner

Jim is flirting with the young waitress who is standing behind the counter of the diner.

She is attractive by Terran standards. She has a thin face framed by gentle curls of brown hair. It can be assumed that her body, which is obscured from my view, is also attractive. She is showing an insurmountable amount of cleavage; her breasts are close to tumbling out of her tight, white buttoned shirt. She is leaning forward over the counter, purposefully exposing even more of her chest and causing Jim's eyes to wander down. His reaction seems to please her.

I'm sitting at a booth off to the side. It has been five minutes exactly since Jim took my breakfast back to get waffles that didn't have a large slice of Canadian bacon on top. To say that I felt nothing towards his blatant flirting would be a lie. I do feel a prang of annoyance and jealousy within me, but this is not the first time this has happened and history shows that the feelings will quickly subside when he is back at my side, his attention on me. I'm sure if I asked him to stop he would, but I know it is only a force of habit and that he has no true interest in anyone else.

The cook rings a bell. The waitress reaches back and gives Jim a new set of waffles sans bacon. He smiles and winks at her before walking back over. He sets the plate down in front of me and scoots into the booth once again. "Who does that? A slab of ham on top of waffles is just weird."

He looks at me. His grin disappears and his face gradually becomes flushed with realization. My face is as stoic as usual, but I can tell he is sensing my feelings of annoyance through our connection; I did not bother blocking it.

"Look, I didn't– It wasn't–" Jim stammers. "It's habit, ok? I'm sorry."

I raise an eyebrow. "To what are you referring?"

He frowns. "Don't play dumb. You can't be that annoyed only over the bacon."

"If you are referring to your flirtation, do not concern yourself."

"You're upset. And don't go back to all of that 'Vulcans don't have feels' shit."

I pour a modest amount of syrup onto my waffles. "I admit I feel some annoyance, but it is nothing that is disconcerting."

He eyes me suspiciously and pokes at his omelet with his fork.

The waitress walks over, attempting to put as much swing in her hips as she can, and pours Jim a refill of coffee. He does not look up her and only stares heatedly at me. She shoots me a sharp, angry glance, assuming that I have said something very rude and offensive. Why else would he fail to acknowledge her presence?

When she walks away, he leans in. "Why not?"

I am puzzled. "Why not?"

"Why aren't you upset?"

I fight the urge to smile. "Jim, what is our waitress's name?"

He pulls back slightly, confusion on his face. "What?"

"The waitress you have been flirting with, what is her name?"

He hesitates for a long moment. "I dunno," he finally admits.

"Paula."

"How do you know that?"

"She introduced herself when we sat down."

"Oh."

"What's the name of the receptionist that you flirted with this morning when you handed her our room key?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" he asked, but I gave him a pointed look. He thought for a moment. "Alice." I shake my head. "I mean, Annie. Abigail? Aubrey?"

"Lauren was the name given on her name tag. What is the name of the man you flirted with at the bus stop?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

"Jonathan."

"Ok, how the hell do you know _his_ name?"

"I do not. That one I fabricated."

He looks at me incredulously. Vulcans do not generally lie, though I make exceptions when I am teasing Jim. He realizes this and sits back, crossing his arms. A smirk plays on the edge of his lips. "Ok. What's your point?"

"Why should I be upset that you flirt with others when you never bother to remember their names, if you even take the trouble to ask it of them?"

His face finally turns into a full smirk.

"I do not understand why you seem so upset that I do not have a negative reaction. It is illogical that you would want such a thing."

He shrugs, suddenly looking away anxiously. His leg begins to bounce, conveying jitteriness. "You always seemed so possessive before." He starts shoveling large pieces of omelet into his mouth.

"I am only possessive when someone bestows bodily contact on you beyond conventional societal standards." I correct. "Do you feel less confident of my feelings when I do not react?"

Jim's leg stops moving and he looks at me, grinning sheepishly. "Of course not. It's just..."

"You prefer me when I am more possessive?"

"Yeah, I like when you're possessive," he says slyly. "It's a real turn-on."

My eyes widen slightly. "Then I will have to refrain from doing so."

"What? Why?"

"I would not want you to become more frequently aroused than you already are. I would like to see more than just a bedroom."

He laughs. It is loud and warm, and I bask in it. "I guess everyone is entitled to their own opinions."

The waitress comes over with our bill. He grins at her as he takes the old-fashioned diner receipt. When she walks away, he looks down to see that he has been given a second piece of paper. It is a ripped scrap with her name and number scribbled on it.

My eyebrow rises. I promptly grab the note, tear it up and leave the booth to depart from the establishment, my hands clasped casually at the small of my back. I am followed by more of Jim's laughter as he walks after me.

* * *

**Author's note:** I have decided to make this a series on Spock not being very logical around Jim. You can read this story as if it is right after Reading or some other morning. It doesn't really matter. I'm probably not going to be doing a lot of stories that string together like these two happen to. After I wrote the first one, this one just popped into my head.

So, I've had a lovely reviewer request that I write a... 'sexy time' story, which I had actually been thinking about last night. I'm not sure. I might. If I do, it'll probably be a bit more romantic and insightful than full-blown monkey sex. We'll have to see if I can think up a creative way to do it so it isn't just smut. I like smut, believe me, but I'd like it to be a bit more. I'm a sucker for romance and love, I know.

To all of the people who reviewed, alerted or added this to their favorites: thank you so much! Big ego booster!

Peachly


	4. The Drink

I stare down at the drink Jim has placed before me. I must admit I have no idea what to think. I have attended many diplomatic dinners on many different alien worlds that have many diverse customs. I have drunk clear, opaque, frothy, chunky and fuming drinks at varying temperatures and in numerous hues. The drink before me now is nothing like any of the others, and as I look at it, I'm attempting to push down a growing feeling of disgust.

Jim sits across from me, seeming to be gauging my reaction to it, amused. "Just drink it."

"…What is it?" I ask, keeping as much emotion out of my voice as I can.

"It's a Terran drink."

I look up at him, an eyebrow raised. "I lived on Earth for three years and had never seen this."

"Yeah, 'cause you're the real adventuresome type. I can't even imagine you in a mall."

"This is sold in shopping malls?"

"Yeah, there was a kiosk that sold these at the mall near the Academy. They're a big hit. You never saw anyone walking around campus with one of these?"

"No," I say, half as an answer to his question and half as a refusal to try it.

He gives me the look he usually does when I am being stubborn over doing something that is considered mundane and simple to any Terran. "It's not made of chocolate."

I frown slightly. "I have already told you that Vulcans do not become intoxicated from chocolate. It is merely a rumor."

"You always refuse to eat chocolate."

"Because it has little nutritional value, which I am going to assume is the same with this drink."

Jim gives an exaggerated sigh and leans back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. We both sit motionless in the middle of the large and moving crowd of the mess hall.

Dr. McCoy sits down next to Jim with a tray of meatloaf and mash potatoes. He looks between the two of us bewildered until he sees the drink before me. A large toothy grin appears on his face. He glances at Jim. "Tryin' to make the Vulcan drink bubble tea?"

I look at McCoy, both eyebrows raised. "Is that the name of this beverage?" I look down to it once more. Contained in a curvy glass is a light green milky liquid. At the bottom sits many marble-sized black spheres. A straw with a larger-than-normal circumference sits in the drink. "Why is it called 'bubble tea'? It looks like neither."

"It's milk tea," Jim explains, "and the tapioca looks like bubbles."

"Tapioca?"

"Tapioca is…" he trails off, apparently unsure as to what it is himself.

"Was this replicated?" McCoy asks, picking it up and examining it.

Jim nods. "I had Scotty upgrade the replicators. Again. I think he's getting annoyed, but I keep thinking of more stuff I want. I'd upgrade them myself, but considering what happened last time, I don't think–"

McCoy slams the drink down with a small bang, nearly causing the 'tea' to spill out, and looks at the captain angrily. "I can't get a good chili to save my life, or the life of anyone else in this tin can, and you upgrade the replicators for weird shit like bubble tea and spotted dick and that cabbage kimchi stuff."

"Doctor, I fail to see how chili would save the life of anyone. On the contrary, would it not–"

"Shut up, Spock. It's an expression."

"_I_ didn't want the kimchi." Jim says defensively. "Lt. Park and Ensign Chung had been asking me to get it for months."

"Yeah, well I know why you asked for the spotted dick."

Jim smirks.

"How old're you?"

"Look, the replicators make chili; you just don't like it. You want the recipe tweaked, you go complain to Scotty. Just don't tell him I was the one that sent you to him."

"There's an art to cookin' chili. It takes skill and precision and experience. You can't just type in some equation and make a perfect chili appear out of those damned boxes."

"Eat your meatloaf." Jim snaps. He looks at me, then the 'bubble tea', then me again. "Dammit, Bones. Don't distract me." He aggressively slides it back before me, to my dismay. "Drink. Or I'm not sleeping with you for a week."

McCoy rolls his eyes. "Can you even last that long?"

Jim shoots him a dirty look. "Why are you suddenly taking Spock's side?"

"I'm not. I'm just sayin', it sounds like you'd be torturin' yourself more than him. Although the knowledge that you two aren't rollin' around in the sheets'll let me sleep a little better at night."

"Shut it." Jim snaps and bangs his hand on the doctor's tray, hitting a fork and causing a large dollop of mash potato to dart through the air and hit the back of Ensign Chekov's head.

Jim quickly looks the other way and leans onto the table, propping his head up on his arm in an attempt to look nonchalant and to hide the plate of pounded vegetable. In his hurriedness, his elbow hits the glass of 'bubble tea' causing it to spill over the table. Little balls of 'tapioca' roll to the floor.

Jim's face becomes extremely red, knowing that he wasn't deceiving anyone in the mess hall with his pose. McCoy has a hand covering his face and is shaking from his attempts to contain his laughter. I am trying tremendously hard not to smile. I doubt this was the purpose Surak had in mind when he taught control of one's emotions.

* * *

**Author's note: **Wow... I'm really belting these things out... This is so unlike me. My muse apparently is a K/S shipper...

Bones kind of hijacked this and made it more into a friendship story, but I love him so I let him. He's a lot more fun to write than I thought he would be. I was afraid he wouldn't sound right, but he does. At least I hope he does.

As for Spock's illogical act in this one... I have no idea. It's illogical to not try new things? Yeah, let's go with that one. Bubble tea, if you've never had it, is delicious! Go find a place that sells it and buy one! Maybe Vulcans don't like things sitting in their drinks? I think he's just being a bit of a brat over it. If you're wondering, I had Jim make him melon flavored. Little behind-the-scenes tidbit for you there. I'm sure you all wanted to know and it was eating away at your heart.

And I know! I dispelled chocolate = Vulcans' alcohol. I know people love our half-Vulcan drunk and overly affectionate (I know I do). I'm sorry. I'll make it up somehow. Chocolate _is_ a bit of an aphrodisiac.... oh dear.

To all the reviewers and adders: Thank you so much!! It's a very big motivator!

Peachly


	5. Solid Ground

After a long and uncomfortable or stressful journey on some sort of transportation, it appears that it is a Terran custom to 'kiss the ground' when they have reached their destination. Even if the transportation unit was on the ground the entire duration of the trip, such as in a vehicle or a train, it is still customary to do this.

Most merely give praise by exclaiming such things as "Solid ground!" and a few will actually get down upon their hands and knees to literally place their lips onto the ground. It is quite an unsanitary act. I have seen the Captain and Dr. McCoy do the latter on several occasions, usually after rides on shuttles that had experienced an unusual amount of turbulence.

Kissing is often used to show affection for another being. Men will kiss the top of the hands of women. Some people will kiss the cheeks of friends they have not seen for a long period of time. Parents kiss the foreheads of their children. Couples kiss directly (Jim shows his fondness for me often and usually on more than just the lips). But Mr. Scott often kisses bottles of scotch and Dr. McCoy will kiss bottles of whiskey. I have seen landing party members kiss their communicators when Nyota's voice finally comes through after five hours of being stranded on a planet in an ion storm. I suppose kisses can be used to show affection for an inanimate as well. A kiss to the ground must mean to show that affection.

To my knowledge of Earth history, there never was a religion centralized on ground worship. Or if there had, it had been in the human's prehistory before written language. I have heard the phrase to 'worship the ground he walks on', but I believe it is merely a proverb indicating high admiration to someone for their intelligence, insight or physical beauty. However, even if there does not seem to be a unified or established religion, this is still a very wide-spread phenomenon.

I once questioned Dr. McCoy because he is the one who does it most often. His response was to say that "If men were meant to fly they'd've wings stickin' out their backs." To which, Jim suggested a large helicopter propeller protruding from the top of one's head.

McCoy retorted by saying it would cause a large amount of neck pain and instead recommended a dorsal propeller.

Jim alleged it would never let anyone lie facing up or sit in a chair.

McCoy said if it was on the head, no one would be able to get through doors.

Jim claimed it was the same with it being on the back but McCoy started describing propellers that could collapse or fold together to make them less cumbersome.

Jim concurred.

I decided to never again pose a serious question to either the Captain or the Doctor while they were under the influence of alcohol as such efforts usually proved fruitless.

I chose to question Nyota instead. While she had never literally kissed the ground, she has said her praises. She asserted that humans feel safer on 'solid ground'. After I claimed that any surface one stands on is quite solid, she specified to ground that is not moving, like the surface of a planet. After I mentioned that all planets are both rotating around an axis and revolving around a celestial body, she agreed but said that the movement is unnoticeable to humans, so it is the appearance of not moving that they find reassuring. After I pointed out that that was the purpose of the inertial dampers, she appeared to become annoyed so I took my leave.

While I still did not understand, I did gain the new insight that many humans find comfort in the appearance of being in a resting state. It explains why humans will praise the ground even if their vehicle never left it. I admit that I can relate to this. Perhaps it is my human half. Meditation is usually easier when I and my surroundings are still and unmoving. I had never, however, experienced as profound an appreciation of being in such a resting state as humans seem to.

Until I was in a car that had been driven by Jim.

After a fight with two Romulan Warbirds, we docked in San Francisco to undergo repairs to our warp engines. It would take roughly four days to restore the ship to its optimal state. Jim and I decided to spend that time in Seattle, the birthplace of 'Starbucks' which I was told was not an obscure space currency but a coffee shop. The clerk at the car rental facility had said it would take approximately 12.5 hours to arrive at our destination.

We arrived there in 6.7 hours with 219 traffic violations not including the excessive speeding.

If I had not been a Vulcan, I probably would have been shaking when I got out of the car. If I had not been a Vulcan, I probably would have vomited in the grass. If I had not been a Vulcan, I probably would have cried and thanked a deity that I was still alive.

If I had not been half human, I probably would not have fallen to all fours on the concrete, grateful for the feeling of steady, 'solid ground' beneath me.

* * *

**Author's note: **Poor Spock! He'll be ok after Jim 'apologizes' to him tonight.

IMPORTANT: I just want to clarify that Spock does not actually shake and vomit and cry (weird mental image... ODing!Spock). He does fall to the ground though. I just want to explain because I know a lot of fan fictions have a line that's like "**Spock is a Vulcan so he did not just look at Jim's hot ass**" when he actually does so it's more a line of the character's denial. _Please! Let me know if you read it the way I meant._ If everyone is confused I want to change it. I don't want people thinking Jim's driving was so horrifying that it actually did make Spock break all of his Vulcan reserve and cry and thank god. Jim can't be _that_ bad of a driver... he did drive off that cliff though...

Thank you for your reviews and adds!

Peachly


	6. Swimming

"JIM!" I shout as I feel myself be pulled and we fall down, down. The firm grip on my waist tightens as we impact the surface of the water. Breath leaves my lungs. I struggle and the hold releases. I frantically flail towards what I assume is up. I breach the surface and inhale deeply, quickly looking for the nearest land before I sink under once again. After wildly floundering, I feel ground beneath my feet and quickly run up it. Once I am a comfortable distance from the water's edge I sit down with the purpose of regaining my breath and my composure.

I watch Jim walk slowly out of the plunge pool, wincing. He had landed flat on his back when he grabbed me and jumped off of the top of the waterfall. I usually find myself doing illogical things in Jim's presence, but how he had managed to convince me to go to such a height and stand so near the edge was lost on me. It certainly was not going to happen again.

He groans as he walks up next to me and lies down on his stomach. His back is red from the collision with the water's surface. The gold of his tan legs, the blue of his swimsuit and the red of his back created a rather jarring combination. "Fuck, that hurt."

I glare down at him, made more intense by my discomfort from sitting in wet shorts. "I cannot swim." Water is– had been such a rare commodity on Vulcan that things such as swimming were seen as not only illogical but also disrespectful.

He winces, but not from his back. "Yeah, you weren't exactly graceful getting out of the water." He rocks his body a few times to presumably readjust the placement of the pebbles beneath him. "Swimming was part of the required survival classes at the Academy. I guess I just assumed."

"You assumed wrong," I say, just managing to keep it from becoming a snap.

He looks up at me. "Wait. So if we're on some planet and I get knocked out and thrown into a lake, you can't come and get me?" He scoffed. "Some First Officer you are."

I glare down at him again and he smirks.

I look back to the natural pool. My mind suddenly fully comprehends the notion and I tense, my back straightening like a rod. A horrid feeling grips my abdomen. He had been teasing, but he made an excellent point. What _would_ happen if Jim ended up in a body of water and needed saving?

"Spock?"

I planned my career at Starfleet to become Science Officer. It is a position that normally does not require beaming down, as there are other scientists aboard who will be members of the landing parties instead. I had deemed learning to swim to be an illogical waste of time and the Academy obliged my request to opt out of the aquatic survival course. They had probably assumed the request was because of my culture's avoidance of wasteful uses of water. They did not ask and I did not bother clarifying; I had gotten my desired result.

"Spock."

But becoming the Captain's First Officer gave me the responsibility of ensuring his safety. It was not something that I took lightly, especially after we had formed a friendship and later a bond. I began beaming down as the science officer with him far more often to protect him from the danger he always seems to attract. While it was not to say that he was unable to take care of himself in most situations, I have needed to save him a fair number of times. But if a situation suddenly arose where he was drowning–

"Spock." Jim's moist, warm breath caresses my neck. I feel him wrap his arms around my waist, pulling me toward him, resting my back upon his cool chest. I do not know when he had moved.

My muscles only relax marginally and I can feel him squirm behind me. Normally my body relaxes almost instantly to his touch, particularly this amount of contact. But I am still stiff, so he knows I am very troubled.

"I– I was just joking," he says nervously, his concern in his voice.

"Perhaps, but it is a valid criticism."

"Valid crit–? Spock, I wasn't–"

"It is a condition that must be amended. You will teach me to swim."

Jim paused for a moment. I soon feel his body shake with laughter before it vocalizes itself loudly.

"I fail see how you can be amused when your safety is at risk," I say incredulously.

"I was just," he barely says through his laughter, "I was just picturing you in water wings. And an– an inner tube." His laughter erupts again and he suddenly falls back, taking me with him. "And flippers!"

Such a humored display causes me to forget my anxieties. His feelings of amusement embrace my mind through our contact and my body finally relaxes. I twist in his arms so that I am facing him. An eyebrow rises. "I suppose those are devices that aid one in swimming?"

I bounce on his laughing abdomen. "Yeah, but usually only little kids wear them."

He looks at me and I find myself staring into his eyes. I wonder why I had never equated their crystal blue with water before.

He takes a hand off my back and places it on my cheek. I lean into the touch. The amusement has died down, replaced with a low, warm, bubbling feeling just beneath the surface of my consciousness.

"I'll tell you what," he breaths, "we've got four days of travel until we get to Halkan homeworld. I'll teach you how to swim in the gym's pool during our recreational shifts."

"Why not begin now? This natural pool seems sufficient."

The arm around my body tightens and pulls me up closer to him. He brings my face down to his, our foreheads touching lightly. A smirk forms at the edge of his lips and his eyes flicker like a pond gleaming with sunlight. "Ever had sex in water?"

I had not, and I could feel that he was far too excited to not oblige him.

* * *

**Author's note: **Yeah, Spock could feel it... right on his hip.

Super-special-nerdy-love points for _anyone_ who knows what happens at Halkan homeworld without looking it up.

Peachly


	7. Happy Halloween!

'HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!'

I stare at the large sign that hangs from the porch of the dilapidated 20th century house. A 'haunted house', Jim had called it. Because ghosts, or at least what Terrans identify as ghost, do not exist, I fail to see what qualified this house as haunted. I ask.

"It's not really haunted. It's just decorated to scare people."

"Why would one willingly engage in an activity the sole purpose of which is to frighten them?"

Jim shrugged. "People just like to be scared sometimes. That's the point of watching a horror movie: To scare the shit out of you for an hour or two."

While I did not appreciate the image his idiom conjured, I understood. "Illogical."

I looked around. The house was in the middle of a block in an amusement park designed to look like a 20th century suburban neighborhood. Usually used to educate on pre-warp Terran life, at the time of Halloween they decorated the streets and houses with items that seemed to be innately terrifying to most, if not all, Terrans. Skeletons dangled in trees, silken webs, sheeted figures, tombstones, gourds with faces or pictures cut into their sides and a light source placed within to illuminate them. The streets were crowded with people, young children and adults, that were dressed in elaborate costumes and carrying bags. They wandered aimlessly or along the sidewalks, knocking on the doors of houses to be given candy.

"Of all of the Terran holidays, this one confuses me the most."

"Yeah, and that's really saying something."

I look at Jim, who is smirking and dressed in the blue pinstripe suit and white fedora that he had acquired on Sigma Iotia II. He had bemoaned the fact that he did not have an automatic firearm to carry around with him, claiming it was the only way people would be able to correctly identify him as a gangster and not just anyone from the 1920s.

I wore the outfit that had been created for me when we beamed down to Beta III, a gray vest and pants with a black hooded cloak that could be used to cover my ears. If anyone asked, I could claim that I was an Archon.

I had always wondered what happened to all of the native clothing we wore for missions once we returned to the ship, though I never dwelled on it. Jim had apparently been collecting them in a large trunk in his room. I can only guess what other uses he has in mind for them. Knowing him, the ideas probably would not end up with us wearing them very long.

"Come on." Jim jerks his head towards the house. "Let's go inside."

I frown slightly. "Must we?"

He glares at me. "Everyone else is out trick-or-treating tonight, but I gave that up because you refused to."

"You could have gone with the others."

"And miss running around in costumes with you without the looming threat of death over our heads? No way."

"I was under the impression that the 'looming threat of death' was the purpose of this holiday."

He rolls his eyes and grabs my arm, pulling me towards the house. I let him.

We first walk into a large foyer, poorly lit covered in cobwebs and dust. The air is very cold. A walkway on the second floor could be seen. The sounds of screaming and laughter, both recorded and not, echo through the house. Two pale-faced teenage girls dressed a nurse and an apple run passed us and out.

We walk to the right to find a dining area. A bloody, grinning face of a man fades in and out on the mirror above the fireplace, which has glowing eyes instead of a fire. The tables and chairs shook suddenly. My keen hearing could hear the gears and mechanisms that caused the movement, rather ruining any illusions.

"Does this really frighten you?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Not really. You?"

"It is illogical that you would ask. Of course not. Fear is an emotion."

He looked at me, disbelief in his eyes. Probably from my claim that I do not feel fear and not that I am not currently scared.

I look back at him, blankly.

He rolls his eyes once more and walks through the dining area to the kitchen. As I started to follow, all of the dishes in a large glass cabinet shattered. Then a few moments later, all the pieces flew back to their original position.

"Fascinating," I muse and lean forward to attempt to see how it is done. When nothing happens, I wonder if it is motion activated. I walked backwards, then in front of the cabinet again. The plates shatter and I watch intently as they reform. Perhaps they–

There was a yell from the kitchen and a large bang as if something heavy was dropped. I straighten quickly. I had heard that yell on enough missions to know who it came from.

"Jim?" I call out loudly. There was no answer. I stiffly walk to the doorway and call out his name again. I am met with more silence. My stomach tightened. I walk in to see a blue body slumped on the floor.

"JIM!" I shout and rush forward. The body moves and I'm met with the large face of a toothy animal. I jerk back, losing my balance on the dusty floor and falling onto my backside.

Jim laughs as he takes off the mask and sits up. "I thought you said you were never afraid."

I glare at him. I gracefully stand, brush the dust and dirt from my cloak and walk out of the kitchen, not blinking when utensils flew out of drawers as I passed.

"Aw, Spock! Come on! It was a joke!"

I ignore him to go through the house on my own. After walking through a living area with bloody hologram ghosts flying through it, I came to a set of stairs that would flatten to become a slide. I waited for it to revert back to stairs before quickly climbing them with 4.4 seconds before they turned back. After going through a bedroom with a hovering bed and a small library with flying books, I made my way to the other side of the house. I walked through the hall way that was above the foyer when movement caught my eye. I paused and looked down.

Jim was standing in the middle of the foyer with a woman clinging to his arm. She was dressed as a white rabbit though if one more stitch was removed from her 'costume' she could be charged with public nudity. I could feel anger begin to boil within me, despite myself, but his face soon mollified it somewhat.

He was smiling, but it was tight and very forced. He looked rather uncomfortable with the body contact, which was unusual for him. The woman had obviously clung herself to him without his consent.

"Are you gonna save me from all the scary ghosts?" I could hear her coo into his ear.

"Look, really, my friend left and I–" he started, pointed a thumb to the front door.

She suddenly dragged him back into the dining room. He grimaced slightly before disappearing after her.

I frowned deeply before quickly retracing my steps until I found myself back downstairs in the kitchen. I picked up the animal mask that lay on the floor and adjusted my hood.

The woman gave a scream of fake fright from the dining room before she moaned lowly. "I feel so much safer with you," she whispered.

"Yeah…" he trailed off.

"I always thought old suits were sexy."

"I really–"

"I heard there's a floating bed upstairs–"

I yell and run out of the kitchen. I pounce, tackling Jim to the ground. The girl screams from actual fright and runs out of the room towards the foyer. I bring myself up as I hear the front door slam. I straddle Jim, who looks up at me in shock. His expression suddenly changes to disbelief. He brings his hand up and takes off the mask, revealing my stoic face.

He looks at me for a long time before he suddenly bursts out laughing. Any negative feelings I may have been harboring against my will melt away in the glow of it. Tears stream down his face and it takes him 3.5 minutes before he regains his composure enough to speak. "That was fucking awesome!"

"Indeed."

"Yeah, Spock, you're not possessive at all."

"I never claimed I was not."

The table and chairs next to us suddenly move and the glass in the cabinet shatters, startling us both.

He smirks. "So much for neither of us being scared."

"Being scared and being startled are not the same."

"Isn't it basically just being scared for a very short time?"

"Perhaps," I say and lean down. "Are you going to save me from all the scary ghosts?" I purr lowly.

His smirk grows. "Of course." He grabs the collar of my cape and brings me down for a kiss.

"Dammit! I came in here to be frightened, not nauseated."

Jim and I look up to see Dr. McCoy and Lt. Sulu, dressed as a court jester and a swashbuckler respectively.

"I must compliment you on your costume, Doctor. It suits you quite well."

"Shut up, Spock."

* * *

**Author's note:** Had to do a Halloween one. Especially with all the smexy outfits those guys wear on some planets.I was going to have Spock in the gangster outfit too, but I thought the hood worked better with him putting on that mask.

It took me a little while to come up with what costume Bones should be wearing. I was going to make him a bear, since they're kinda known for being grumpy (Someone **PLEASE** draw that. My god, it would be so damn adorable), but a Fool made Spock's comment funnier.

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!

Peachly


	8. First

"I don't think your dad likes me much."

I turn to Jim. He is sitting on the couch in our guest room and is sweating profusely. He leans down and takes off his boots. We are on Vulcan II and have just returned from a dinner with my father, Ambassador Sarek. While both my father, with whom I am currently on terse speaking terms since my decision to stay with Starfleet, and I showed no emotions during the meal, Jim was extremely nervous and apprehensive. His ability to block his emotions from traveling through our bond is adequate, but his emotional impressions still drifted to me throughout dinner and caused me to feel his large uneasiness. No matter how much assurance I sent to him, he remained anxious. It has only slightly mollified since we returned to our room.

"What has caused you to think this?"

"What are you talking about, Spock? Couldn't you tell? I mean, the last time I saw the guy was on the bridge before we went after Nero and I'm sure _that_ didn't leave a great impression." He shifts slightly. "He looks at me and is thinking, 'Shit! This is the asshole that emotionally compromised my son by insulting my wife within hours of her death. He's a crazy-ass, emotional, impulsive human. Now he's a damn captain, my _son's_ captain, and he's banging him, too? What the fuck?'"

I raise an eyebrow. "Yes, Jim. I am sure those are his exact thoughts."

He tries to stop from grinning and throws a couch pillow at me, which I catch before it hits my face.

"Why is it funnier when_ you_ use sarcasm?"

"It is probably more effective because I do not use it as frequently as you do."

He opens his mouth to speak, but grins sheepishly and closes it.

"He showed no emotion tonight. I believe you are merely projecting your guilt, which is unjustified, onto him."

He hesitates. "Maybe, but I can read Vulcan well."

"You do have an elementary level of literacy when it comes to Vulcan texts, but I do not see how this aids you in interpreting my father's perception of you."

"Not Vulcan texts. I meant since I've been around you I can read Vulcan faces. Vulcans show more emotions than they like to admit, yanno."

"You may be able to read my facial twitches but your ability is aided by our connection."

"I could read you before we did it though."

I frown. "We had a connection before we 'did it', Jim. It was just subtle, so you may not have noticed."

He looks at me, curious. "Really? Could you feel my emotions before we slept together? I mean, without touching?"

"You constantly show your emotions, as do most humans. I do not need a connection to see what any of you are feeling. But yes, I did."

"But I need a connection to tell what a Vulcan feels? When did we form a connection?"

I ponder this momentarily. "We probably formed a connection strong enough for you to notice after our first kiss."

He frowns. "But I can remember being able to read you before the Chi Sigma IV diplomatic dinner."

I raise my eyebrow. "That was not our first kiss."

Jim sits up, confusion on his face. "Yeah it was. I remember. You kissed me on the shuttle back."

"We did kiss then, but our first kiss was 4.2 months before, done during one of your drunken stupors."

His eyes widen. "_What?_"

"You did not appear to remember afterward, but I thought I told you after we formed our relationship."

He looked at me incredulously. "No, you didn't."

I place my hands at the small of my back. "It occurred after you returned from meeting Balok after your 'bluffing match'. You had drunk a large amount of _tranya_ aboard his ship. Because of your state, you called and requested I escort you back to your quarters. Outside your door, you suddenly placed a 'good night' kiss on me."

Jim sat and stared at me, slightly slack-jawed and wide-eyed, for a long moment, the information apparently sinking in slowly. "You're kidding."

My eyebrow twitches. "Vulcans do not kid."

He looks down and thinks, trying to desperately search for this memory.

"As I said, you were heavily intoxicated, so it is not surprising that you do not remember."

He frowns and leans back. "Then it doesn't count."

"Clarify."

He looks up at me. "I don't remember it so it doesn't count."

I am puzzled. "Does not… 'count'?"

"Yeah. Spock, I don't want to consider our first kiss to be one I can't remember."

"But it _was_ our first," I say as I walk over to him. "And, if it had not occurred, I would not have found myself growing fond of you and, therefore, would not have felt the urge to kiss you on that shuttle."

He shifts. "What? Really?"

"Yes." I sit next to him. "I had no feelings for you beyond friendship before it."

He gives a small grin. "Wait, so you started falling for me after I kissed you?"

"Indeed. Your kisses can be very persuasive, Jim."

His grin grows to a large smirk. He leans over and grants me with what we had been discussing. His lips are chapped from the dry heat of Vulcan II, but it does not make it any less sweet. Great warmth fills me from the contact, and I am grateful that there is no trace of his previous anxieties.

He pulls back. "Alright then, how _does_ your dad feel about me?"

I do not respond.

"He doesn't like me, does he?"

"No, he does not."

"Shit."

* * *

**Author's note:** What's that? Background information?! I'm thinking about doing an actual chaptered story about how they got together... or a chaptered story about anything, really. But I don't like the plot ideas I have so I'll grind my brain for better ones. I know how they get together. I actually wrote a story for this series about why he broke up with Uhura (Which btw, S/U: Don't like. I like Uhura, but the very first TOS episode, she flirts with Spock and he totally shoots her down. Then he goes and has sex with Jim. That last part may or may not be made up.) and how he got with Jim afterward, but it just didn't match the tone of the rest of these stories. It was less humorous and more serious, borderline on kinda depressing. I want this series to be playful. So I figure I'll try and expand the story, make it chaptered. My profile looks lonely with only one story posted. D:

Thanks to all of my readers and reviewers!! (Based on the reviews for the last story, everybody loves a possessive!Spock. I do too. So I'll have to write more Spock-scares-the-shit-out-of-women/men-for-getting-all-up-on-his-man stories.)

Peachly

P.S. Seriously, imagine Sarek saying that.


	9. Birthday Gift

I did not initially consider getting Jim anything for his birthday. I had not gotten him gifts for the past three of his birthdays. It was not that I had always forgotten his birthday, as I can remember dates and numbers quite naturally and with little effort, but I am merely not accustomed to considering the date of one's birth very significant. I believe he was a little disappointed the first birthday, though he did not appear too upset. After that, I do not believe he expected one.

He always gives me a gift for my birthday. They are strange trinkets or objects, normally with no true purpose, but always with some illogical undercurrent of humor and thoughtfulness. The first was a religious statuette depicting the Kappa Deltan's demigod of loyalty, which was a sleeping cat-like creature. I had a suspicion it was less a reference to my capabilities and loyalty as his First Officer and more to my willingness to stay in bed when he is asleep and his claims that I sometimes purr when we exchange affectionate contact.

The second was a small wooden bracelet with rather intricate designs carved along the band. He claims that it is said the wood from the K'ton tree is meant to counteract the effects of carpel tunnel. Once again, I question if he is alluding to my professional life or our personal life.

The third was a pair of leather gloves with a soft Argelius II animal fur lining. They are of a decent quality and they usually keep my hands sufficiently warm. I find, however, that I cannot put them on without causing myself to become aroused by the fur caressing my fingers and palm. It is a fact I discovered when we were on a diplomatic mission with the people of Iota II, an ice planet. I am not sure how I managed to keep my mental cognition for the 5.78 hours when every handshake, passing of PADDs and typing caused a large amount of stimulation. I had not told Jim the reason for my aggressive insistence to go straight to his quarters after that shift ended, but I believe he is beginning to see a trend, in that it occurs after each away mission on low temperature planets. Not that he complains. I am unsure if he knows that it is the gloves that are the direct cause.

Each is from planets that the _Enterprise_ visited. Thinking far in advance is not a usual trait of Jim; so the fact that he has the ability to see something and decide it would be a great present for a day months away was rather astounding. Nyota also did this though I had believed it stemmed from her organized and planning personality. With Jim also showing this trait, I wonder if it is merely an anomaly or an inherit trait of all humans. When I think back, I do remember others also giving gifts in such a fashion. Perhaps it is because they live on a starship. Opportunities to buy gifts are rare so it is logical that they would learn to buy gifts far in advance. Even if the actual act of gift giving is largely illogical.

I do not have this trait.

I cannot see an object and make the connection to buy it as a birthday present. I find myself the day before Jim's next birthday and we will not be making any stops for the next week. I would not say that I feel panic, but I certainly feel a small bit of anxiety.

As with most of the time that I find myself unsure of something pertaining to humans, I turn to Nyota. I asked what I could get Jim in such a short time. She made few suggestions. The first was to give him one of my more personal items, which can show trust. I have few personal belongings, as Vulcans rarely form connections to inanimate objects. The only things that have any true significance to me are a scarf and hat knitted by my mother. Despite my attempts at Vulcan detachment, I do not think I would be able to give them to Jim, or anyone. And he still feels guilty for what he said to me on the bridge concerning her during the _Narada_ incident, no matter how many times I attempt to reassure him that I hold no grudge. I believe he would view it as me giving up another piece of my mother. I do not believe he would be able to comfortably accept them.

Another suggestion was to do something for Jim that I would not normally do, something that I would only do for or with him and few others. She claims the view of me making a concession will show my affection for him. In other words, do something I know is illogical for him. I find this a rather ironic suggestion. The fact that I want to give him a gift was an illogical concession. And I already find myself doing so many illogical things around him; it is his usual effect on me. There is no special occasion needed for that.

Her third suggestion was to make him something. This seems like the most logical choice, though regarding what I will make him I have little insight. I never participated in the Terran children's activity of 'arts and crafts'. I can fix or build differing pieces of technology, but nothing that could really be a gift. I dwelled on the thought of making him a 'birthday cake' from scratch; however, I quickly decided against it. I may be able to simultaneously oversee and work on five complicated experiments in differing fields of scientific study while scanning space and keeping Jim out of trouble, but I cannot make any attempts to cook or bake without it leading to disastrous results. Jim has banned me from any stove or oven without supervision.

On the day of his birthday, I had Gamma shift while he had Alpha. I become off-duty as soon as he entered the bridge. We both gave acknowledging nods before I entered the turbolift and retreated to my quarters to sit at my desk. I only had until the start of Beta shift to construct a gift. It was not until 4.6 minutes until the shift change that I grabbed a PADD and quickly typed into it. I was finished 3.1 minutes into Beta shift. I stiffly stood and walked to the Captain's quarters next door. I buzzed for entry, which was immediately permitted. I held the PADD behind my back as I walked into the room.

Jim was slouched in his chair at his desk. He gave me a large smile. "Hey, Spock," he said, stretching his arms above his head. I resisted the urge to look at his exposed abdomen from his gold command uniform and his black undershirt being pulled up with his shoulders.

I merely stand, back straight and my muscles tense. I do not know why I feel this way. I had not given him a gift the last three birthdays so if I did not give my haphazard 'gift' to him it would not be unusual. Gifts are illogical. But I found I had to do it. I felt guilt for not giving him one before. I had to give him one now. But I feel my gift to be extremely inadequate.

My silence and rigid appearance cause his grin to fade. "You alright?"

I give a stiff nod and take a step forward. I tensely give him the PADD that had been hidden behind my back.

He looks at it, confused. He takes it. On the screen is a complex geometric design in gold and green creating a swirling image. He studies it for a moment before looking up at me. "What is it?"

It takes a large amount of control to keep my voice steady. I look at the wall above and behind his head. "It is a fractal algorithm. It is a computer-generated image created using a set of complex mathematical equations."

He looks back down at the image, still slightly confused.

"It is your birthday, is it not?" I quickly add.

He looks up at me surprised. His blue eyes are wide. "You made this for me? As a birthday present?"

I look back down at him. It takes all of my will power to give another minute nod.

He glances down once more before the largest grin I have ever seen spreads across his face. I am slightly taken aback. The PADD is put down with a large clatter and before I realize, Jim grabs my waist and pulls me down, capturing my lips with his. I am slammed with his warm, simmering feelings of love and giddiness. He deepens the kiss and his smooth tongue meets my rough one.

I suppose there is a certain appeal to giving gifts after all.

* * *

**Author's note: **It's my birthday today so I decided to quickly jot this down. I like how it turned out. I haven't really reread it as many times as I usually do with my stories, so excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes.

I am so tempted to write out the diplomatic mission with the gloves...

Thank you to all my readers and reviewers!! Live long and prosper! (but not in the 'fuck you' way that Spock used)

Peachly


	10. Diplomatic Fumbles

The small cave, merely 1.4 meters high, is dark but dusty and dry. Jim and I are crouched down a few meters from its entrance. It looks more like a long tunnel than a cave, and I find myself calculating the odds that someone or something will emerge from far within the cavern. Taking all variables into account, the odds are surprisingly in our favor for once. The natives are sky worshippers and life sign records on the planet's fauna show that any animal small enough to fit into the cave should pose no real threat.

I see Jim, who is kneeling down against the opposite wall, relax and lower his phaser, though he does not place it back on his belt. He is panting heavily from running around the jagged rocks and up steep slopes of these mountains. He is covered in a layer of brown dust and there is a rip on his shoulder from when he caught it on a spiked rock.

He looks over to me, and then glances down to himself. He gives as much of a smile as his heavy breathing will allow. "How do always manage to come out of every chaotic and life-threatening event so fucking pristine?"

I glance down my person. While I would not say pristine, I am certainly covered in far less dirt with no rips to my uniform. "Perhaps I am just–"

There is a low growl and we both look back to see a large dog-like creature with both scales and fur emerging from the back of the cave.

As it always seems to occur with Jim, we have beaten the odds.

It pounces towards me and before I have time to aim my phaser away from the cave entrance, there is a flash of read, and it is dead before it hits the ground.

I turn to see Jim still cautiously holding his phaser towards it.

"I find that you are a continued hazard to my health."

"Me?" he says defensively. "This situation totally wasn't my fault."

"And yet you saw fit to molest the chief's daughter."

"Molest?" he snaps. "I didn't molest her."

"Given his reaction, I believe the chief would disagree with you."

He frowns. "I bowed. How was I supposed to know bowing was offensive? There was nothing in the cultural report that said bowing was off limits. And yes, I _did_ actually read it."

I look back towards the entrance. "Indeed, it was never mentioned in the report made by the cultural observer," I conceded. "Bowing is by far one of the lest offensive things you have done."

"Yeah! Hey, I've been really good lately! There haven't been any horrible cultural incidents on any missions for almost a year." He suddenly gives a sly smirk. "And that last one? Totally not caused by me, _Mr. Spock_."

I shoot him a sharp look.

"I mean yeah, the queen was seriously hitting on me but it wasn't like I was encouraging her. It wasn't like she was really getting anywhere."

"You certainly were not discouraging her."

"Don't make it my fault. You nearly broke the woman's wrist."

I duck my head slightly. "I will admit it was a lapse in judgment. We both will need to learn to control our aggressiveness towards those who flirt with the other."

"We both? Why me?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Seeing as the only reason you chose to bow today was to stop yourself from punching the woman after you pulled me away from her–"

"She was rubbing against you like a cat in heat! I wasn't going to let her hand travel another inch up your thigh."

"Indeed, _she was seriously hitting on me but it was not like I was encouraging her. It was not like she was really getting anywhere_," I say in a mocking tone.

Jim tries to stop the grin growing on his face. "_You certainly weren't discouraging her_," he retorts in his own mocking tone.

We both look at each other amusingly. We allow the fact that we are both hypocrites to be left unsaid.

"Why is it when we go down to planets, you're hit on far more than I am?"

I consider the question a moment. "We frequently beam down to planets that are inhabited by incredibly intelligent beings. It is only logical that they would have impeccable taste in mates as well."

Jim scowls at me.

I feel the edge of my lips twitch up. "I do not see why you are upset. You share their taste, do you not?"

He smirks. "Does that mean I only get hit on by the barbaric and ignorant? If that's who finds me attractive, what does that say about you?"

It is my turn to glare. "I won't sit here and be insulted," I say only partially seriously as I start to move towards the entrance.

I feel Jim grab my collar and pull me over. I turn my head and find his lips meeting mine. He quickly deepens the kiss and the force causes me to loose my balance on my ankles and I land on my backside. He swallows my grunt and leans me back against the cave wall. His tongue tastes like the berries and nuts that we had been offered an hour ago before we were running for our lives.

"If this is your way of apology, you may need to insult me more often," I mumble against his lips.

He pulls away with a smirk. His grin soon turns into a frown and he tilts his head to the side, a thoughtful look in his eyes as he studies me.

I raise an eyebrow.

"Maybe it's the ears," he mutters.

* * *

**Author's note:** Is it just me or do a lot of my recent stories end with them making out?

About the **mission with the GLOVES:** So apparently almost everyone wants to read about Spock going through a diplomatic mission with a raging hard-on. I have gotten far too many people begging for me not to do it. So I have indeed started writing it! I will probably post it as a separate one-shot side story. When I do, I'll make sure to let you guys know. I need to think of a good glove pun to make the title. I was thinking 'Fits like a Glove' but it doesn't make sense with the story other than there being a glove involved.

Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing!

Peachly


	11. Heat

"You are hot."

"Hell yeah I am," Jim mumbles sleepily against my forehead, tightening his embrace around me so that what little space had been between our nude bodies disappears.

"I was not referring to your aesthetic appeal," I say into his collarbone. "You are overheating."

My finger tips brush against his back. The surface temperature of his skin is far too high for normal human standards. Given the circumstances, it is certainly logical. He is lying in bed under thick sheets, clutching a warm Vulcan body in a room set to a Vulcan's comfort levels. And it is post-coitus. For once I dislike my body's natural high temperature.

"Computer, lower room temperature 17 degrees." The computer responds to my command with a small ding. I feel the air shift slightly as the room begins to grow cooler.

I move a hand up to place it on his forehead. His temperature is roughly 39.15 degrees. "We must cool your core temperature before you become ill."

I attempt to pull myself from the bed, but Jim refuses to let me go.

"Don' worry 'bout it." His speech is slurred. He did not have large quantities of alcohol thankfully or his condition would be even worse. It appears his behavior while 'half asleep' is similar to his behavior while he is drunk, if somewhat more subdued.

"Ji–" I am suddenly interrupted by his mouth barraging mine. His tongue slips passed by lips and I involuntarily open my mouth, welcoming his insistence to deepen the kiss. My arms loop around his neck and draw him closer. His tongue and mouth are much warmer than usual, making the kiss feel strangely foreign but his technique is familiar. He pulls away from the kiss by only a centimeter and huffs warm, moist air over my lips. I shiver, though I am not cold.

"Jim," I attempt again, my voice suddenly low and hoarse.

He grunts, starting to kiss cheekbone.

I will myself to concentrate on the fact that his health is at risk and compose myself. "Allow me to leave so that I may procure water and ice."

"Ne'er."

My eyebrow twitches with annoyance. I place my palms on his chest and, using my Vulcan strength, push myself out of his arms, earning myself a groan. As I slip out of the bed, Jim lazily scrambles to try and grab me to pull me back.

"Where're you goin'?"

I do not answer as I go to the replicator in my quarters for a glass of water and an ice pack. The colder air nips at my bare skin but I ignore it. When I return, I find him sprawled across the bed on his stomach, his head leaning over the edge of the bed in an uncomfortable-looking manner. I place the glass on the shelf behind the bed. I nudge his shoulder and he shifts, placing his self back in to his original position, lying on his back, head on his pillow. He grabs my arm and pulls me down so I am sitting on the bed, leaning over him.

He is beautiful. I rarely allow myself the pleasure of studying him. His body gleams from the red environmental panels shining off the sweat that covers it. My nostrils are filled with his arousing scent. His blond hair is untidy. His chest, only slightly discolored from bruising, raises and falls to a steady, but quick, tempo. I am almost tempted to leave him to sleep, but he is starting to hyperventilate.

I place the bag of ice on his forehead.

He jumps and his eyes shoot open. His hand suddenly shoots up and grabs my wrist. He looks up at me, surprised. "What?"

"You are overheating." I release myself from his grasp, leaving the ice bag, and grab the water from the nightstand. By the time I bring it over he has sat up, holding the ice to the back of his neck.

He accepts the water, though he does not drink it. "Is it hot in here or is it just me?" he asks, surprisingly serious.

"It is just you."

Jim looks at me, and smirks.

"We should refrain from such activities in my room. You have a tendency to overheat."

He shrugs. "It's alright. You're uncomfortable in my room." He gulps down most of the water and sets the glass on the nightstand.

It has only been three months since we started our physically intimate relationship. We usually will have intercourse – a word Jim normally dissuades me from using because he claims it sounds too clinical – in his quarters, however there are times when he seeks me out in mine and I find it difficult to refuse his needs to satisfy his 'infamous' sexual drive. I mostly agree because I also enjoy our lovemaking, but I cannot deny the niggling feeling of fear at the back of my mind that if I do not, he will expend it on someone else. Either way, each time we have done it in my quarters, his body temperature increases to dangerous levels. The first time, I had not considered it and he had a heat stroke. I am far more cautious now. If only to avoid another of Dr. McCoy's 'infamous' lectures.

"Mild discomfort is preferable to illness," I retort.

He frowns. "You never let me change the temperature in my room."

"They _are_ your quarters."

"You just changed the temperature in _your _room! My room's always too cold for you. I don't like to see you shivering unless I'm the one causing it. Preferably with my tongue."

I feel myself blushing a darker shade of green. I quirk an eyebrow. "There are ways to increase my body temperature."

He looks at me with a mild surprise expression before it morphs into a large smirk. "Yeah, I'm more than capable of heating you up." He winks.

I allow myself a small smile. "Indeed."

Before he can respond, I am unable to contain a shiver running through my body from sitting naked the cooler implemented climate.

Jim suddenly tosses the ice pack on the floor and grabs my arm, dragging me back under the covers and into the residual warmth. He lays me down and crawls on top of me, positioning his self between my legs, which I spread to accommodate him. He leans down. "I think I'm beginning to see the merits of your argument, Mr. Spock."

I feel hot, moist breath blossom on my neck and warm arousal spreads through my body. My arms wrap around his neck again and my back arches up in an attempt to increase our amount of touching surface area. "Good," I say breathlessly. "Perhaps you should make attempts to implement this method more frequently."

He laughs. "I don't think that'll be a problem."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hooray for them making out at some other point than at the end! Instead it's a 'camera pans to fire' ending (haha get it? Cause it's about heat? Yeah, sorry. Anway...). I got the idea for this story when my friend burnt himself on a stove. I know, it's weird. This story has some more of them being hypocrites again. They're already sounding like an old married couple, just with less wrinkles and angry bickering and more hot (haha) sexy times.

I was a little hesitant to put in the 'he might cheat on me' part but I figure this is set early in the relationship and it would be a fear Spock would probably have.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! Reviews give me a warm and fuzzy feeling inside (I know, more heat jokes. I'll stop). I'm still working on the glove story but it is getting done!

Peachly


	12. Motorbike

"I must refuse."

Jim frowns at me and holds out the helmet further. "Come on, Spock. This is the only transportation I've got. It's paid for. It'd be _illogical_ not to use it."

I always have a feeling he is mocking me any time he uses any variant of the word 'logic'. "It would have been logical to initially obtain a more practical vehicle."

He sighs, lowers the helmet and sits sideways on the seat of the motorbike. It is a standard model with no specializations; although, I am unsure if I would know if it does have any, as my knowledge of ground vehicles is limited. The seat is small but large enough to fit two people, if somewhat uncomfortably. I have heard him mention that he owned a motorbike before enlisting in Starfleet, though I do not know its current whereabouts.

My eyes narrow slightly in suspicion. "You rented this motorbike deliberately. You wanted to force me to ride it."

Jim just grins.

"May I ask why?"

He shrugs. "New experience?"

"No doubt the close contact this vehicle requires was a factor in your choice."

"No doubt," he nods, his smile growing wider.

"You are incorrigible."

"Come on, Spock," he says as he attempts hand me the helmet again. "It can't be because of the physical contact. You certainly weren't complaining about it last night. Or this morning, for that matter."

I stiffen slightly and glance around our location to see if anyone was in a close enough vicinity to hear his comment. I can see an older woman walking towards the rental facility give me an apprehensive look. It may be because she heard his statement or perhaps it is merely because I am Vulcan and she has xenophobic beliefs. For the first time, I hope it is the latter. Either way, I feel my face tint green.

"It's safe, trust me."

I tilt my head. "Given the way you drive a hovercar, I very much doubt it."

"I'd force this helmet on you if I didn't think I'd hurt your adorable ears."

"Adorable?"

"If you're embarrassed by my speaking about our sex life, just imagine what a scene we'd make if I'm chasing you around and wrestling this helmet on your head."

I frown slightly. "You would not be able."

His eyes light up. "Wanna bet?"

I stare at him.

No, I don't.

My shoulders fall slightly. I approach and take the helmet from his outstretched hand.

He beams at me and I try to convince myself that it does not make this worth it.

"I have conditions."

His grin slips slightly. He sighs and shifts on the seat as if he were making himself comfortable in preparation for a long lecture. "Alright, hit me."

I bring my hand up and smack the side of his head.

"Hey!" he yells and puts a hand on his head. "What did you do that for?"

I hold the helmet in both hands at the small of my back and look at him in amusement. "You requested it."

He squints at me accusingly before he smirks and grabs my hips, bringing me closer to stand between his legs. "You enjoy being purposefully obtuse, don't you?"

"Enjoyment is an emotion," I reply. Which we both know means 'yes'.

In my peripheral vision, I can see the same older woman staring reproachfully at us, yet I find that I am not quite as bothered by it this time. His hands holding my hips firmly somehow make me feel safer, though from what I do not know. His thumbs are slipped under my jacket and shirt, and I feel his affection seep through where they rub my skin.

I raise an eyebrow. "Would you like to rephrase your question?"

I can also feel his annoyance, which had only been lessened temporarily, growing.

He sighs and gives my hips a small squeeze. "What are your conditions, Mr. Spock?"

"While I am on this motorbike, you can not do any 'tricks', which includes 'wheelies' or jumps. Neither wheels of this motorbike leave the ground."

He nods approvingly, meaning he was not going to do it even if I had not said anything.

"You will not maneuver this vehicle in any way which will cause it to lean at more than a 45 degree angle."

"Alright," he concedes. "I'll take curves and corners slower."

"You may not speed excessively."

He looks at me incredulously. "Oh, come on! The speed limits are way below safety standards. Most of the time, they don't even make sense."

"I said you could not speed excessively," I clarify. "I did not say you could not speed."

He seems surprised by response. "What do you define as 'excessive'?"

I pause. "Ten over the designated limit."

"Twenty," he bargains.

"Ten."

"Fifteen."

"Ten."

He sighs and looks away. His fingers drum on my sides. "Alright fine, 10."

"I would also appreciate it if you observe traffic signals and road signs."

"I'm not going to run a red light," he snaps. "Or run through a stop sign. I'm a reckless driver, not a stupid one."

"I do not think there is a difference."

He rolls his eyes and lets me go. "Just get on the motorcycle, Spock." He straddles the bike and puts his helmet on. I slip on my own helmet (being careful of my ears) as he starts the engine, which gives off a loud din.

I hesitate before putting my leg over the bike to sit behind him. The bike vibrates underneath us. He revs the engine, startling me. I quickly put my arms around his waist. My chest is pressed up against his back, which I can feel flex through his jacket. I place my chin on his shoulder. That feeling of safety drifts back into my senses again.

As he shifts gears and the motorcycle begins to roll forward, Jim gives a little wave to the older woman outside the rental facility.

I do not look to see her expression because I do not care.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I think this is one of my favorites (of my stories)... I think I like it because Spock isn't one for PDA, but his affection for Jim can override that! xD

BTW, I've started posting _'In the Name of Glove'_ which is about the diplomatic with the gloves mentioned in Birthday. Check it out in my profile! You asked for it, I wrote it.


	13. Old Man

"I feel like an old pervert."

I lift my head from his shoulder to look at him. I raise an eyebrow and bring my head back down. "I supposed that would not be a completely inaccurate description."

I hear Jim scoff and feel the tip of my ear flicked. "That's not what I meant."

"Really?" I ask, puzzled. "It is an idiom?"

He hesitates. "It just… carries a connotation."

"What would that be?" I shift so that I am more on top of him and not stuck between him and the back of the couch.

"Well, it sorta implies a creepy old guy who goes after naive innocent young boys and girls for their bodies," he explains.

I frown slightly. I feel a hand rub the ribs on my side. "I am older than you."

"Well, yeah technically, but not physically. Physically you're in your prime. You're comparable to a 30 year-old human."

"It is true Vulcans have longer life spans," I concede.

"So you look like a naïve young man and I," he sighs. "I look like I'm robbing the cradle."

I consider it for a moment. "It could also be said that you appear to be a wise old man and I appear to be 'robbing the grave'."

I feel Jim's stomach rumble with silent laughter. "Think people are calling you a gold digger? Going after my money?"

"I have more money than you, due to my longer career and family inheritance."

He sighs again. "Yeah, but unless you're going to be walking around with your age and credits written on your back, people aren't going to know that."

I sit up and straddle my lover's hips, my hands on the thick gold sweater on his pectorals. The human always loved gold. No doubt his captaincy had a hand in that.

Jim's hair was mostly gray. His hands are calloused and rough. His skin is wrinkled and not as smooth as it had once been. His visual scars, great in number compared to other admirals but very small in number when compared to the number of injuries that he has actually suffered, have faded; or rather his skin has faded to a paler color similar to the scars. While he was in better shape than most of the men his age, he was not as fit as he once was. He did not have the energy or the strength he once did.

I, on the other hand, have changed very little since the beginning of our first five-year commission. My features are slightly more angular. My eyebrows and hair are slightly more unruly but no trace of gray yet. I am still as fit as I had been 44 years ago. I am just as strong, if not a bit stronger.

"I have never known you to care what others think, Jim."

He smirks. "That's because everyone thought I was awesome."

I roll my eyes, a human trait I have picked up over the years. I move my hands over his chest; the sweater causes the muscles to be less defined, but they are there. "You are still beautiful."

He winces. "At least call me handsome. Or dashing. Or, I don't know, hot. I feel like I'm some girl in a pageant when you call me beautiful."

I kiss his neck. "You are all these things."

"Aw, damnnit Spock, don't make me blush."

I pull back and put my hands on his cheeks, rubbing the reddened color with my thumbs. "I like when you blush. It's very alien."

"Is there anything you don't like about me?"

I tilt my head to the side. "Your breath in the morning is rather foul."

"Yeah, but that's with all humans, all that bacteria. What else?"

"You snore."

"What? No I don't!" he says defensively.

"You do. How would you know if you do not? You are asleep."

He frowns. "I've recorded myself. I don't snore."

"You have recorded yourself while you've slept?" I ask incredulously.

"Yeah, so don't lie."

I frown. "Vulcans do not lie."

"No, but they like to stretch the truth," Jim counters with a smile. "What you consider snoring, everyone else considers heavy breathing."

"Perhaps. If it puts your mind at ease, I find it hard to sleep without your loud 'heavy breathing'."

His smile grows. "Maybe it does a little."

I kiss his stubbled chin as my hands travel down rest on his upper arms. I want him to take the sweater off since I do not appreciate the barrier it creates, but I do not wish to move from my position on top of him. My indecisiveness causes me to once again realize I have spent far too much time with humans.

I feel his hands fidget on my thighs. "You'll find someone else, right?" His voice is anxious. "When I'm gone?"

I kiss along his jaw. "I doubt it."

Jim shifts underneath me. "I don't want you to be unhappy."

My automatic response would be to say that Vulcans do not feel emotions; therefore I could not feel unhappy once Jim was… but it would be a lie. "You have made my standards very high, Jim," I murmur. "It would be very difficult to find someone better than you. I could not bring myself to settle for any less."

The human laughs and slips his hands under my shirt. His rough palms are cool and familiar on my waist and I can feel a strong tingle shoot up my spine. "I think you got the short end of the stick here."

I stop my ministrations and pull back. "How does one identify if the end of a stick is short or long?" I ask.

He looks at me as if he is trying to decide if I am being purposefully obtuse or not. While I would not admit aloud that I enjoy feigning ignorance (especially in the presence of others with whom I am not well acquainted and believe me to be serious), I _am_ confused by the expression. Because Jim uses them often, I have managed to become fairly proficient at deciphering all of the strange idioms that human use, but there are still some that I do not understand. Of course, the origins of such phrases are usually lost on humans; they can explain what it means but not where it comes from.

"I have no idea," he finally says, knowing I am not just 'pulling his leg' (another phrase I never quite understood). Instead of attempting to explain it, he revises his comment to one he knows I will recognize. "I think you drew the short straw in this relationship." Even if I still think it is strange.

"Why do you say that?"

"Not only will I probably never have to live without you, I get to fuck a sexy young man for the rest of my life. You get a wrinkly old raisin."

I lean down and kiss the side of his mouth. "I do have a fondness for raisins."

He laughs again, even harder than the previous times. I can smell coffee and rum on his breath, his cup only half empty and most likely cold now. "Good. Although honestly, I like grapes better."

"Grapes?"

"If I'm a raisin," Jim suddenly pinches my posterior, "guess who's the grape."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yeah, does anyone get my joke at the end? Or did it just fly straight out of left field and bean you on the side of the head? EDIT: Changed because people were confused.

I don't know why, but I like the idea of Jim being a wrinkly old man and Spock still looking really young. And Jim swinging a cane around, yelling at kids to get off of his lawn just because it's a stereotype and he wants to live up to the image of a cranky old guy and Spock sighing, but not bothering to stop him because he knows it would be a waste of energy.

Thanks for reading! Please review? It makes me feel appreciated :3 (Chp. 13?! Does this make this unlucky? D:)

Peachly


	14. Merry Christmas!

Jim folds the blue scarf in half then flicks it over my head, pulling the ends into the loop and pulling to secure it around my neck. He next zips up the first red fleece jacket, capturing the ends of the scarf underneath. He zips up the second jacket, which was light blue and made of a form of plastic-like fabric. Next, he buttons the thick black wool jacket over the rest. He grabs a light purple headband and puts it around my head, covering the tops of my ears and the top of my forehead. He picks up the brown furry hat with earflaps and puts it snuggly on my head, making sure to not pull down the headband, which is now hidden.

He steps back and beams at his handiwork.

I glance down. It felt like a strange ritual, having these clothing placed on me, but humans in this age do not usually act out rituals such as this. It is probably more a standard practice. These layers of clothing feel very cumbersome, but I know I will be thankful for it once Jim drags me outside.

"Where is it we are going?"

He picks up his own jacket and puts it on. "We're going to go chop down a tree."

I raise an eyebrow, but resist the urge to ask the purpose of a Christmas tree. I have made a conscious effort to not continuously question all of the strange winter holiday customs of Terrans. This is not my first Christmas with Jim, but those other years had been aboard the _Enterprise_. He loves the holiday, but never wanted to do many of the associated customs. He said his family never truly celebrated Christmas; they rarely even got a tree. He said he was fine with not participating on all those past Dec. 25ths.

This year, he seems to be determined to have a 'traditional Christmas'. I believe he always greatly coveted this as a child. That he envied other families for their celebration of this day. And now that he has someone he cares for and who cares for him just as much in return, he wants to do everything he did not get to as a child.

Therefore, I have refrained from refusing any task he asks of me. These tasks, after all, are some of the more pleasant things he has asked me to do. Any questions I ask are merely for clarification or for more information. I do not question the purpose of many of these actions; he most likely would not have an answer and would only become flustered.

I already know the answer.

I realized it our second night at the old Iowan family farmhouse he inherited on this mother's death. I was wrapped around him in an attempt to gain some body warmth from the colder room. Most of the activities associated with Christmas were meant to include the entire family. They all are meant to bring families together. Whether he realizes it or not, the fact that his family was not willing to do these things meant they were not really a family.

I was not going to deprive Jim of it this year.

By the time we arrive at the tree farm, the sun has risen. But it is still bitterly cold. Jim hurries up the porch and knocks on the door of the house next to the planted fir forest. The man was large and friendly. Jim pays him and the man mimes out directions to what I assume is the shed behind the house.

We walk around the domicile and approach the small shed. As Jim rummages around inside, I look out to the snow covered trees. There are many of them, planted in a grid pattern with roughly 7 feet between each tree. I soon hear him come back out. I look to see him walking with an old manual axe resting on his shoulder.

I raise an eyebrow. "There must be other equipment to bring down a tree."

He grins. "Yeah, but I want to chop down a tree."

I frown slightly. "There are easier means to chopping down trees than with that."

"Yeah, but I want to _literally_ chop down a tree. I've never done it before." He takes one of the long sleds propped up against the shed and lays it on the ground. He hands me its rope. He starts walking through the trees.

I follow with the sled, surveying the nearby conifers. "What kind of trees are these?"

"Uh," he says, as he looks one up and down. "Douglas-fir, I guess. I don't really know my trees."

"Your trees?"

He rolls his eyes and smirks. "You know what I mean."

"You did not study plants in school?"

"Not really," He says, as he looks closer at one short, wide tree. "Just the basics."

I look at the tree as well, though I do not know what he is looking for. "Vulcan children must study and memorize all of the plants on their planet." Which is now Vulcan II.

"There are way too many plants on Earth to learn them all." Jim says, moving on down the row of trees. "Not even trained botanists know them all."

I give a small nod before shivering violently. The clothing is helping, but my face is not protected in any way. I look around at the trees individually, attempting to concentrate on the plants. "What is it you are looking for?" I ask.

He glances back to me. "What do you mean?"

"What attributes make an acceptable Christmas tree?"

He looks thoughtful. "Well, the most important thing is that it has to fit in the house, can't be too tall or fat."

"Where do you wish to put it?"

"In the living room. I was thinking we'd move that red sofa chair near the fire place."

"It would be a fire hazard."

He shakes his head. "Not if we push it all the way into the corner."

I nod and calculate the maximum height and width that would allow a tree to sit in the place he indicated. "Is there anything else?"

He shrugs. "An ideal Christmas tree should be cone shaped, but as long as it isn't really out of control, any should be fine."

We walk through the tree farm for another hour. Few trees meet the dimensional requirements and the ones that did were unruly or patched. I mostly stay behind him to hide the fact that I have started to shiver frequently. He ultimately notices me shiver as we approach the 237th tree.

And Jim does what he normally does when we are alone and he sees me shiver: he molests me.

I suddenly find myself backed into the branches of the tree. He leans into me and huffs a moist, hot breath against my face before kissing my cheek. He pulls back slightly, eye wide. "Damn, you're freezing!" He takes off his gloves and places them on my face, his thumbs rubbing along my cheekbones. They are very warm compared to the winter air and lean into his touch, closing my eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you were so cold?" he asks, his warm breath still blossoming on my face.

I raise an eyebrow, but do not open my eyes. "You did not know?"

He pauses, stopping his thumbs. "Yeah, but I didn't think you'd be this cold." He continues his ministrations. "You should have told me if you were this uncomfortable. I guess I forgot about your face not being protected," he murmurs, sounding guilty. He lowers his hands and begins to grace my face with soft, warm kisses that buzz on my skin and caress my mind with warm emotions. My cheeks, my eyelids, my forehead, my chin, my jaw, my nose all get this treatment. He finally lands on my lips, lingering there a long moment before pulling back.

I open my eyes to see him grinning at me. "Better?"

I did feel warmer, although there is no logical reason I should. I nod.

He looks away from my face and to the top of the tree I am leaned against. "How about this one?"

We both step away and I look at it. It is thin and of a suitable height. It is roughly cone shaped with stray branches but can easily be sheared. I nod again.

Jim manages to only take 45.6 minutes to cut the tree down, which is a much shorter time than I thought it would take him. I shake it to dislodge any snow still on the branches and place it on the sled. We trudge back to the rental hovercar. We secure the tree to the top of the roof and head back to the farmhouse at a speed much slower than Jim would normally drive, but he does not want the tree to become damaged.

After we warm up in the heated house, we secure the tree to a base with a screw mechanism and place it in the corner Jim suggested. It does not take long to decorate the tree, as we just bought all of the ornaments because Jim could not find the box of decorations in the attic. It was not surprising as few of the cardboard boxes were labeled and it was completely disorganized. I helped for a few minutes, but the attic is very poorly insulated so he would not allow me to stay long. Since half of the tree faces walls, two strings of multicolored lights and 17 ornaments (all space themed) fill up the tree sufficiently well. Four wrapped presents sit beneath the tree, two to and from each of us.

After we finished, we sat down on the rug near the fireplace. Jim lies along the rug and I am sitting in between the hearth and tree.

I pick up a cookie from the coffee table. We baked gingerbread in the shape of men yesterday afternoon without burning down the kitchen remarkably. When we were making the dough I asked why they were in the shape of men, and Jim said he thought there was an old story about an elderly couple who wanted a son, so they made a cookie in the shape of a man; he was as confused as I was as to why they would do that.

It is easy to recognize which of us decorated which cookies. He brought out multicolored sprinkles and white, green and red icing in dispensers. I used the pictures he showed me of how a gingerbread man is normally decorated as the blueprint to my designs, altered slightly to fit our ingredients. He seemed annoyed that my cookies were coming out as professionally done as in the pictures; I_ am_ a perfectionist.

Jim decided, in what seemed to be retaliation, to mutilate his cookies. Using a flower cookie cutter, he created fake bite marks, taking off an arm, leg or head. He then proceeded to use the red icing to mimic the appearance of blood dripping from its 'wounds'. If it still had a head, he would draw a frowning face.

I look at the decapitated gingerbread man I just picked up. Upon closer inspection, it also appears to have a large stab wound on its side. And a white phaser on its hip. I raise an eyebrow.

I glance over to Jim, who seems extremely amused that I picked up one of his cookies. "I am considering recommending that Dr. McCoy administer you with another psychological evaluation."

He looks at me in pseudo-horror. "That's so cruel!" He exclaims, turning his gaze to the fire. "He would do it, too. Just to piss me off."

I bite the cookie and study Jim. He lies sprawled on the rug. A blue sweater is wrapped snug around his form. His blond hair and tan skin glow golden in the firelight, making him look ethereal. He appears to be the thing radiating heat instead of the fire. Arousal begins to smolder in my abdomen.

His face takes on a relaxed contemplative look.

"What is it you are thinking?" I ask.

He smirks. "Of your face when I leaned you against that tree today."

I give him a quizzical look.

He looks up at me. "I don't know what it was, you just looked really beautiful."

I am slightly taken aback. I ponder it and tilt my head. "Sometimes things can have amplified beauty when placed into a complementary setting."

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

I raise an eyebrow before crawling above him. I hover my hand close over his face, looking at him expectantly.

He smirks as if to say I did not need to ask.

I place my fingertips on the psi points, his skin warmed by the fire, and easily delve into his mind. I do not fully immerse myself into his mind, even if I want to do so greatly. Wading in his mind, I send him the image of him lying wanton on the rug next to the fireplace just moments before, including my affectionate emotions attached to it. I feel his surprise bubble around me.

In exchange, he sends me the sight he had been alluding to. I see my face framed by the brown hat and rich green, needled branches with caps of white snow. My face is flushed green from the cold. My expression is open, content. It appears to be after he gave me the many kisses. The emotions attached are wonder and awe.

I ease out of his mind. Our connection still buzzes. Jim puts a hand to the back of my neck and pulls me into a long, lazy kiss. His tongue and mouth taste of gingerbread. I use the hand that had been employed during the mind meld to caress his stubble covered chin.

I pull back and look down at his smiling face. "Merry Christmas, Jim," I say.

His grin grows. He pulls me back down and murmurs against my lips, "yes, it is."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Merry Christmas! This turned out very long compared to the average length of this series' fics. Twice as long, in fact. Two for the price of one! It also has a bit more angst than I normally put into these stories, but I think it fits. This is for DapperDestruction, who was really pushing for holiday fics. Sorry I missed Thanksgiving. I thought up an awesome idea _after_ the fact. Maybe next year?

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday and thank you so much for reading and reviewing!

Peachly

PS: How Jim decorates his gingerbread men is how I always do it. xD


	15. Sex Kitten

When I open the door to Jim's office, all I can see is one huge, disorganized mess spread out over the entire small space. At first I do not think he is there until I hear his voice and notice blond hair over the stacks of PADDs sitting on the desk.

"Go away. I'm on my lunch break."

I raise an eyebrow. "At 1700?"

He lifts his head with a surprised look on his face. He grins. "Hey."

"Good evening, Admiral," I say as I walk in.

Jim groans and puts his head back on his desk. "Don't call me Admiral."

"We are on duty," I remind him.

"Yeah, but we're alone. And you're not here for business."

"But I am," I correct.

He looks back up at me, puzzled. "Here for what, then?"

"Lt. Rogers asked me to come here."

He frowns. "My secretary? To do what?"

I give a small smile. "I believe he has become exasperated with your behavior and asked me to come here to scold you."

His eyes narrowed. "To scold me?"

"Not in so many words, but yes. I believe he was implying that you are being very uncooperative and hostile."

Jim snorts. "These people are so fucking condescending. I thought I was past all of this patronizing bullshit when, I dunno, I spent ten years as one of the best damn captains in the fleet? Rogers is two years younger than me and only a lieutenant, and he acts like I'm fucking five."

I tilt my head. "Perhaps you act like you are five," I suggest.

He throws his hands up. "What ever happened to respecting rank and your elders?"

I frown. "When did you ever do either?"

He stops and actually considers it. "But I'm badass," he says seriously, as if were an actual and acceptable answer.

"And Rogers is not 'badass'?"

"What?" he laughs. "Are you kidding? He's a whiny, prissy bitch. He just went over my head and sent my wife to lecture me."

I frown. "Wife?"

He smiles. "Yeah, or would you prefer butt-buddy?"

"I prefer husband or life partner or perhaps–"

"Sex kitten?" he asks hopefully.

I give him a look. "I think he came to me because I was your former First Officer. It is a well-known fact I am the only one who can talk you out of a decision. It is also well-known that I am one of only few with the ability to successfully reprimand you and leave you feeling as though you have actually done something wrong."

He smirks. "I dunno. I like sex kitten better."

"Why do you always associate me with a cat?" I ask, barely keeping the exasperation out of my voice.

"Come here," he says, gesturing me closer.

I hesitate before complying to sit on the edge of his desk, leaning towards him.

He brings a hand up and begins to rub just behind my ear. My eyes become half-lidded and I give a short pleasant moan. I lean into the touch. I feel my throat begin to vibrate in a very quiet purr.

_See? Told you. You're my sex kitten._ His voice echoes complacently in my mind through our contact.

Before I can retort, the entry buzzer suddenly sounds. He presses the admission button under his desk and the door to his office slides open. A women walks in. "Admiral, I–" the lieutenant commander begins but stops after looking up from her PADD and taking in the scene before her.

"Yes?" Jim asks annoyed as he continues to elicit my purring.

She says nothing, only stands there with her mouth hanging open slightly as she stares at me. I can imagine it must be a rather strange sight: an admiral rubbing a Vulcan behind the ears. A Vulcan who probably looks like he is going to stretch out onto the desk at any moment and take a nap.

…

Maybe I am like a cat.

I would start worrying about my Vulcan sensibilities, but I feel far too content at the moment.

Jim frowns. "Did you have a reason for coming here or are you just going to stand there staring at my Vulcan all day?" he snaps.

_Your Vulcan_, I think. _I like the sound of that one._

The young woman jumps and looks back to Jim. "Oh, um, it's not– I can– I can come back– come back later," she stammers and points to the door behind her with her thumb.

"Yeah, why don't you do that?" Jim says narrowing his eyes.

She quickly turns and bolts from the office. The door swishes closed and we are alone again.

He turns back to me. "Man, you must love this to let someone else see you with your face so open."

"I have, as humans say, 'taken a leaf from your book' and learned to not care."

He laughed, "Good to know. So you like me calling you my Vulcan, huh?"

"I do," I confirm.

"But if I say that, how will they know which Vulcan I'm talking about?"

I shoot him a short glare.

"Wow, you must _really _love this," he says in awe. "You're eyebrow only twitched at me."

He begins to take his hand away but I shoot him another look, which causes him to grin widely and continue the rubbing.

After a few more minutes of his ministrations in content silence, he groans._ My arm's getting tired._

The corners of my mouth twitch upwards as I sit up, breaking the contact.

He takes his hand back. "I'll agree to do that way more often if I get to call you sex kitten without you leering at me every time."

I pause for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. "Agreed."

He laughs and surveys his office as if he will see something interesting that was not there before. "So, you going to yell at me?"

"For what?" I ask, standing up.

"For being 'uncooperative and hostile' towards the idiots I have to work with."

"If I did, would you listen?"

He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, a contemplative expression on his face as he looks at his desk. "We know each other well enough. You know to pick your battles with me, and I know that when you do, it's for something you actually care about. So, if you did start spouting off about how I should be nicer and more compromising and less of a jackass to these people, yeah I probably would." He looks up at me. "Are you going to?"

I tilt my head. "No, I do not think so."

He smiles as the entry buzzer sounds and the door opens again to reveal Lt. Rogers, who gives me a small grateful smile and a small smug one to Jim as he walks in.

Jim looks at him, pleased. "Ah, Lieutenant. I believe you know my sex kitten?" he says, gesturing towards me.

It only takes 0.3 seconds before Rogers' face morphs to utter shock.

I school my face to perfect neutrality. I give no reaction to being called such a lewd name, knowing it will only perturb the lieutenant all the more. "We are acquainted," I say.

Jim turns to me and tries to keep his grin from taking over his face. "Thank you, Mr. Spock. I will take what you have suggested into consideration."

I give him a short nod. "Admiral." I turn to Rogers, who is looking at me wide-eyed with a very prominent blush on his cheeks. "Lieutenant," I greet as I walk past.

As the office door closes behind me, I find myself grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'd like to think that Spock would totally go along with Jim when he messes with people. He has that wonderful dry humor. He loves riling up Bones; he would totally do it with other people too. I also like to think that Jim calls Spock 'sex kitten'. Come on, you know he would. So I am standing by this as _totally_ in character and only slightly border-lining on crack.

Huge thanks to the people who review to my stories all of the time!! I love you guys!

Peachly


	16. Vulcan

"_Du maut e'tum_," I murmur against his neck.

Jim suddenly sits up and twists to look back at me. "Did you just call me a kitchen?"

The edges of my mouth twitch down. "That is _af'tum_."

He smiles sheepishly. "Oh, right." He lowers himself onto my chest again. He sits between my legs as I recline back on the pillows of the bed. Alpha shift has just ended and while I was going to begin reports on our latest engagement with Klingons, Jim has dragged be onto the bed to do nothing more than sit and talk. In the beginning, I would argue against such an act, which would lead to him giving me 'puppy eyes', as humans may call it, and I would relent. I soon realized that this was Jim's way of relaxing after a tense shift or mission. I now rarely protest. At least not in earnest.

"Why do you enjoy my speaking Vulcan if you cannot understand what I say? More often than not you misunderstand me."

He shrugs. Jim has been trying to learn the Vulcan language for nearly half a decade, but he has not been able to reach above the proficiency of a very small child. And his pronunciation is atrocious.

"Yet you continuously ask that I speak it."

"It's kinda a human thing," he explains. "Humans like to hear people speaking to them in a language they don't know."

I raise an eyebrow. "I normally find most humans are annoyed by others who speak a foreign language."

"I mean in a romantic setting. They like people saying romantic things to them in other languages. Lot of humans like exotic things, and languages they don't understand seem exotic."

"How do they know their partners are saying affectionate things?"

He shrugs again. "They don't. It's not about the words. It's about how you say them, the emotions projected through your tone or body language. You could be giving me the most horrible insults, but as long as you say it in a seductive voice, it doesn't matter."

I raise an eyebrow. "Another example of humans considering attached emotions more important than the content."

Jim smiles. "To humans, the emotions _are_ the content. Words can be interpreted in different ways, but not emotions. Someone speaking in another language allows you to just concentrate on their emotions and not get tripped up with the words. You take the same sentence, say it different inflections and it changes the meaning of the words."

"Yes," I say, slight annoyance in my voice, "which is why sarcasm escapes me frequently."

"Exactly," he says cheerfully.

"Which is also why Vulcans speak frankly and in a stoic tone of voice, so that the meaning is not misinterpreted."

"Only it usually makes humans think that you're really rude or arrogant."

"It is an unfortunate secondary ramification."

"So even if I speak Vulcan like I've got tribbles stuffed in my cheeks, it should still convey the same meaning, right?" Jim attempts to say the accepted Vulcan declaration of love between bondmates, and I wince. He frowns. "That bad?"

I tug him close and kiss his temple. "_Taluhk nash-veh k'dular_."

He shivers against me. "Ditto."

I stop a chuckle before it starts. "I proclaim my love for you, and you say 'ditto'?"

"Would you rather I try to say it again?"

I hesitate. "Perhaps not."

"Can't you just teach me Vulcan through a mind meld or something?" Jim asks, gesturing to his head. "Just implant it into my brain?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I could replace your understanding of the Standard Language with Vulcan," I offer.

"Yeah, that'll be useful in a crisis," he says sardonically. He grins and rotates in my arms. "Maybe you should speak to me in Vulcan some more."

I hide my amusement and ask, "What would be the purpose in doing that?"

His grin widens and he wraps his arms around my neck. "Maybe it'll help me improve my speaking."

"You would be improving your listening," I correct, being difficult for the sake of being difficult.

Unfazed, he brings himself up and barely brushes his lips against mine. "I guess I'll just have to feel the movement of your lips while you speak. Help with my pronunciation and all."

The corner of my mouth twitches up. "_Ashalik t'nash-veh_."

He grins against my lips and gives them a chaste kiss.

"_Du taluhk na'nash-veh._" I kiss his cheekbone, under his eye. "_Ek'wak kupi-glazhau nash-veh na'du._"

Jim's eyes close as he leans more into me.

I move to kiss his slightly stubbled jaw. "_Sem-tor igen-kur-kurak t'du nash-veh._"

His breaths begin to become deeper.

"_Aitlu nash-veh du mesakh'vath-veh_." I kiss his neck and feel his breath hitch in his throat. "_Tar-tor nash-veh na'nashveh 'kup-pekhal nash-veh'. Rilokav'es._"

He hums lowly with contentment.

I move down to where his neck and shoulder meet. "_Yon-tor du shaukaush svi'nash-veh._"

He tightens his arms around my neck.

"_Svi'pid-yesik'es dungi-aisha du nash-veh khaf-mev-eikan._"

He pulls back, grinning. "That one wasn't affectionate, was it?"

Both of my eyebrows rise. "No, it was not."

He laughs and tugs me closer again. "Told you so."

"Indeed," I say, slightly exasperated. I will have to work on further repressing my expression of my emotions.

"What did you say?"

"You will have to be more specific," I answer, even if I believe I know which line he is referring. He needs to learn to be less vague.

"The one that wasn't about me."

"I assure you, they were all about you."

"The last one. The one that wasn't lovey-dovey."

I raise a puzzled eyebrow. Humans can say the strangest phrases.

He frowns. "You know what I mean."

I smile slightly. "As you have lead me to understand it, the words do not matter; only how I say them."

His eyes narrow at me, suspicious. "They were all about me? You sounded annoyed."

"Indeed?"

He straightens slightly. "What did you say, then?"

"That here is a high probability you are giving me an aneurysm."

He laughs and relaxes, kissing my forehead. "I love you."

My eyebrow twitches. "Ditto."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yeah, so I _was_ going to translate all of the Vulcan that Spock says and put it down here because I know people would be asking... but after I thought about it, I'm not going to. Sorry. It would totally undermine the purpose of this One-Shot. After all,_ it's not about the words, it's how he says them. _xD

Peachly

P.S. At least you now know what kitchen is in Vulcan, right?


	17. Drunk

An hour after Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy beamed back to the _Enterprise,_ I was finalizing my report on the Captain's most recent bluffing match with Balok, an alien of the First Federation, and how his fabrication of corbomite matter and his act of mercy lead to this peaceful First Contact. I was completing the forms required to allow Lt. Bailey to stay as an informal cultural attaché and observer when my quarter's comm. whistled.

"Spock here."

"Spock," the Captain drawled. I could tell by his voice that he was heavily intoxicated. Considering Alpha shift only finished thirty minutes ago, I was at a loss to how he managed to become so inebriated so quickly. I would accuse him of drinking while on duty but I know he respects his rank and crew enough to restrain himself from doing it, no matter what his reputation may say otherwise.

"Yes, Captain?"

He does not respond.

I wonder for a moment if he has passed out before remembering that our shift had ended. I exhale heavily. At least he still has some mental capacity. "Yes, Jim?"

"Can you come and… come and pick me up?"

My eyebrow rises. "You wish for me to carry you? Are you injured?"

"Wha? No, no. No… I just," he pauses, "can you help me back to my… my room?"

I was unaware that my duties as First Officer would expand to include dragging my Captain back to his quarters when he was too drunk to stand. "What about the doctor?"

He does not say anything for a moment, either because he is hesitating or merely processing my words. "He's," he slurs, "asleeping."

Asleeping? Dr. McCoy is also heavily intoxicated.

"I… I'd call my yeoman, yanno… but… yeah."

"You would prefer as few people as possible seeing you in such a state."

"Exa– yes."

My eyebrow twitches in a twinge of annoyance. I resist the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose. I consider leaving him to find his own way, but the crew's perception of their Captain is important to running the ship efficiently. I am also not spiteful. "What is your whereabouts?"

"Briefing Room D. No, C. Wait... Yes, D."

"Do not move. I will come to retrieve you."

"You're welcome," he mutters before cutting the communication.

I leave my quarters and walk towards the turbolift. While I am unsure as to how he ended up in Briefing Room D, which is down near the science labs, it should be easy to take him to his quarters without being seen by any crewmembers. The science area's hallways are normally sparsely populated during the beginning of shifts when science officers are filing initial progress reports on the experiments they have presently taken over.

When I enter Briefing Room D, the captain is sitting near the computer terminal, head resting on his arms. He looks to be sleeping.

"Jim?"

He peaks an eye open and when his eyes focus on me, he give a lop-sided grin. "Heysspock."

I tilt my head and lean down to try and get a better look at his flushed face. He is far more subdued than he usually is when he is intoxicated. He almost looks sedated. It is rather worrisome. My hand hovers over his uniformed back for a hesitant moment before I gently set it down between his shoulder blades. "Jim, are you alright?"

"Alcohol," he mumbles.

"I do not think that it would be wise to consume more than you already have."

"Wha? No, I'm not askin'," he winces and places a hand on his head. "Balok. He gave us drinks. They were– We didn't know. They'dn't taste like it. Long… delay."

"I see."

"We thought it was just… just fruit juice," he mumbles.

"You are aware that many alien drinks that can intoxicate you do not taste like alcohol." It is not a question.

"Yeah. Yeah, but I can ususu– normally tell. There'd be a buzzy feeling. This'dn't have it 'til we beamed back."

I stop myself from reprimanding him further. He is not in a state that would allow it to be effective and much of my antagonism has been effectively dissipated. Knowing how many alien drinks can be extremely strong, it is a possibility that he actually _had_ been responsible and only had one drink.

"Where is Dr. McCoy?"

"Bones?" His face scrunches in thought. "His room. It hit us in the sickay'n we walked out'n he got home'n I was goin' home'n… I dunno how I got here."

"It is fortunate you wondered into one of the less populated areas of the ship."

He grunts a confirmation.

Deciding that leaving sooner would be preferable to later if I want to bring the Captain back without being seen, I move the hand resting on his back to his waist and put the other on his arm to lift him up. He makes a surprised sound and stumbles but manages to stand with my aid. I place his arm around my shoulders and lead him out of the briefing room, his head lolling forward. It takes us more time than it usually would; however we arrive outside the Captain's quarters without being seen by anyone.

I attempt to open the door but the privacy lock is activated.

"Jim?" But there is no response. "Sir?" I say, tilting my head forward again to try and see his face.

"Hmm?" he hums, not moving his head.

"You must enter your entry code."

I think I see him frown. "And what is I'm… what'm I opening?"

I raise an eyebrow. "The door to your quarters, sir."

"Oh," he says, actually sounding rather sheepish. He lifts his head enough to see the pad and brings his hand up. After about five minutes of the Captain inputting the incorrect code, my patience begins to give out. I grab his forearm and bring it down before putting in my First Officer override. The door swishes open. He takes his arm off my shoulder and stumbles forward, gripping the doorframe to stay upright.

"Do you require any more assistance?" I ask, slightly concerned as to whether or not he has the ability to get to his bed before he collapses.

He turns and waves his hand in a dismissing gesture. "Naw," he says, the vowel drawn out. "I… I can make it from there."

I nod. "If that is so, I will–"

The Captain suddenly grabs my collar and pulls me forward, my surprise allowing it to occur. His lips connect with mine for a short moment. My eyes widen and my brain short-circuits.

"G'night," he says, sleepily as he turns back and stumbles into his quarters, the door quietly swishing after him.

It takes a long moment to completely comprehend what has just occurred.

And my chest explodes.

* * *

**Author's note: **Oh Jim! You sly, drunk dog. You probably recognize this from being mentioned in First. I probably will do the second kiss too? Wait for it!

(I don't know if any of you would be interested, but) I've recently been on a Kirk/Bones bender, although my muse isn't cooperating too much. I _have_ written something though so we'll see when I get that finished and posted.

_So I have a few quick questions:_

(1) Do you like it better when Spock goes into an inner monologue (like Solid Ground), when it's him and Jim having a conversation (like Old) or both (like Reading)? Or no preference? I'd just like to know what you guys like. I basically just do it however it comes to me.

(2) I was kind of playing around with the idea of writing some Jim!POV of some of these stories. If there's any in particular that you'd really like to see, let me know. Maybe I could make a Jim!POV series of Spock making Jim do _logical_ things? Haha. Though I have a feeling it would be a little more angsty.

(3) If there's scenes mentioned in any of these stories that you would really like to see, let me know. _Ecsuss_ asked for when Jim gets the first heat stroke and Spock gets lectured by Bones and _Witches-of-Whitewater_ asked to see the conversation when Jim assures Spock that if he doesn't want to have sex, he wouldn't just 'go elsewhere' (which is weird because they are both from Heat haha).

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!

Peachly


	18. Happy Valentine's Day!

Valentine's Day is quite logical.

The traditions and the actions that occur are illogical. The fact that this day exists is expected. Humans hold a very high regard for the emotion of love. It is the main focus of most literature, music, movies and art. It is not surprising that they would create a holiday to celebrate it.

I walk into Jim's quarters after Alpha shift. He is not present, which causes me to suddenly realize that I did not ring for entry and merely let myself in. It is an obvious testament to how comfortable I have become around Jim. He always tells me that I do not need to knock; therefore, I must have taken it subconsciously to heart, as Jim would put it.

I walk forward to stand next to his desk and find the most traditional Valentine's Day items. There is a small bouquet of five white roses in a thin vase and a red heart-shaped box with a white ribbon wrapped around it.

I notice the stems of the roses are golden. I lean down and sniff. A spicy smell tinges my nostrils. They are chameleon roses, flowers with petals that change color based on the mood of the holder. I pick one of the flowers up and the pedals morph to a light blue.

"Calm," a voice says behind me and I turn to see Jim in the doorway, a grin on his face. He walks over and picks up one of the roses. It turns quickly turns to red.

"Excitement?" I ask.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he says before giving me a slow and lingering kiss. He glances down to the flower in my hand, a deep purple. "Lovestruck. So much for Vulcans not feeling any emotions, huh?"

I raise my eyebrow. "Perhaps it is your emotions bleeding through our connection," I suggest, halfheartedly.

He chuckles. "Got that much of an effect on you, huh?" He takes both roses and places them back in the vase, where they slowly fade back to white.

I look around the room. "I do not see any illogical presents," I say. "Other than the chocolate and flowers, of course."

Jim smiles. "I figure I'm enough of a gift." He pauses and tilts his head. "And I couldn't really find anything I thought would be perfect," he adds.

The corners of my mouth twitch upwards. "I believe you are more than sufficient."

He chuckles as he takes my wrist and drags me to the bed. His excitement, lust, fondness and affection stroke my consciousness. He jumps on the bunk and sits cross-legged in the middle. I climb onto the bed and sit in a similar position across from him. He inches forward so that our knees knock together.

He places the heart-shaped box between us, unties the ribbon and lifts the lid. In the box are twenty round balls of chocolate with varying decorations and colors. I raise an eyebrow. "Is there a significance to the embellishments?"

"Uh, yeah." He picks up the heart shaped paper from the bottom of the lid and hands it to me. "It tells you what's in it."

"They do not merely contain chocolate?"

He shakes his head. "Some of them. Not all of them."

I study the paper. There are ten different fillings indicated by what is on the chocolate coating. Covered in crushed nut is peanut butter. Shredded coconut is a coconut cream. Red swirl is cherry. White swirl is marshmallow. Yellow swirl is nougat. Green swirl is mint. White powdered sugar is crème. Powdered chocolate is soft fudge. A chocolate grid is caramel. Plain is milk chocolate.

Jim grins. "Try one."

"You are aware I am not fond of chocolate."

Jim rolls his eyes. "You don't know if you actually like it or not. You never eat it because it has no 'nutritional value'."

I tilt my head. "And yet you continuously ask that I eat it."

"I'm not asking you to stuff your face," he says defensively. "At least try one?"

I hesitate. "It will not intoxicate me," I remind him.

"I know," he groans. "So you tell me all the time. I just want you to try it. It's just a piece of chocolate. It's not going to kill you or disrupt your bowels. It just tastes good."

"Eating something merely because of taste is illogical."

Jim picks up a piece. "No, it's not. It brings enjoyment." He leans forward and plops the caramel filled truffle in his mouth. By the movement of his jaw, it's obvious he is rolling the chocolate ball around on his tongue. His eye lids half close and he makes a rather obscene and exaggerated moan of pleasure.

I feel my face flush green slightly.

He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me in for a kiss, which I cannot help but reciprocate. He tastes sweet, a strange rich flavor that fills my senses. The remnant of the treat is both creamy and sticky. He pulls away with a few quick kisses to my lips.

I clear my throat, my green flush now more prominent. I look down to the chocolates and ignore the prodding in the back of my mind reminding me that Vulcans never touch food with their fingers as it as seen as lewd; however, given our activity, I do not see this as a problem. I pick up a truffle with red swirls. "Perhaps I can see the benefit in this method of tasting," I say and hold the chocolate to Jim's mouth.

He smirks before leaning forward and taking the treat, his lips and tongue brushing against my fingertips and causing warmth to form within my abdomen. He savors the chocolate long enough to coat his mouth before kissing me again.

I find I rather like the taste of chocolate.

* * *

**Author's note:** I really want to do a drunk Spock, but I have no idea how I would do it, not only in his POV, but in first person. I can do a first person drunk!Jim!POV no problem, but Spock? I don't know. So I just say chocolate doesn't intoxicate him in Illogical!verse. I'll maybe make a one shot of drunk!Spock from Jim's POV. I just imagine him being all tactile and cat-like. It would be so cute. Thanks to all of my readers and reviewers (because wow, 244 reviews? Mind boggling, it really is)!

Peachly


	19. Child at Heart

It takes three and a half days for Jim to get cabin fever. The secluded farmhouse, warm fireplace, hot drinks and heavy snowfall outside are novelties that have quickly lost their appeal, and he has become fidgety for action and movement. Even repeatedly rolling around naked under thick, comfortable blankets has become slightly boring for him, something I never thought would happen.

I believe humans would describe him as antsy.

"Come on, let's play in the snow." Jim is kneeling down, his head resting on the arm of the couch. He looks up at me with wide, blue eyes and an expression innocent enough that it would be very convincing if my lower back did not ache from our last round upstairs.

"I believe I am beginning to more clearly understand the root of the phrase 'puppy face'," I say, returning to the novel I am reading in the form of an actual carbon-based book that had been in the house's study. It is an interesting way to read, although I find myself preferring to read from PADDs, both for logical reasons and the familiarity.

In my peripheral vision, I can see him add a pout. "I'm bored."

"Resorting to whining, Jim?"

His face changes into a scowl and he snatches the thick-rimmed glasses from my face, scratching the bridge of my nose. I exhale heavily and look down at him.

"Why do you only sometimes wear these?" he asks, examining them.

"I only use reading glasses in poor lighting to prevent the deterioration of my eyesight."

"I like them. You should wear them more often."

I raise an eyebrow. "Is there a particular reason you find them so appealing?"

"You just look really sexy wearing them," he says, smirking and looking up at me. Before I can ask him to explain further, he stands up and kisses between my eyes where he scratched my nose. I look at him puzzled and he smiles, bringing a thumb up to rub the skin his lips met. "Kissing your boo-boo."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Boo-boo?"

Jim's smile grows and chuckles.

I frown slightly. "What is so amusing?"

He shrugs a shoulder. "I dunno, just hearing you say 'boo-boo', I guess."

"And what does b– this word mean?"

"It's an owie."

"Owie?"

He chuckles again and I let out an indignant huff. "Aw," he kisses my brow again. "Sorry, it's just that your diction is always so intellectual and clinical. Hearing you speak baby-talk is kinda surreal."

"I would prefer that you did not amuse yourself at my expense."

"Well, you're just going to have to find some other ways to amuse me," he says with a large smirk.

"I would rather not go outside."

He tilts his head. "There are things we could do _inside_."

I raise an eyebrow. "I was under the assumption that copulation had become tedious for you."

"What? Bored of having sex with you? No!" he says affronted, before sighing and sitting down beside me, putting one leg over my lap, giving me the need to lift the book to avoid it being ripped. "But yeah. We have been doing an awful lot of it."

I stifle my annoyance the intrusion of his leg on my lap. "Then what would you suggest?"

He frowns and swivels his head around, taking in the room. "I have no idea. I was hoping you'd have an idea. The only things I can think of are outside in the snow."

I take the glasses from him and return them to my face. It takes 0.4 seconds to find the sentence I had been reading before being interrupted. "I am already participating in an activity with which I am content. I see no reason to think of another."

"Yeah, _you_ have something to do, whereas _I_ don't. And as my lover, it is your responsibility to keep me amused."

"I was not aware of that obligation," I say and turn the page.

"It's more to keep the peace."

I glance over. "Keep the peace?"

Jim lounges back and starts to bounce his leg, causing my book to move as well, interrupting my reading once again. "As in, I'm going to keep annoying you until you humor me."

I exhale heavily and turn to him. "I was under the impression one grew _more_ mature with age, not less. You act more like a child now than you did seven years ago."

Jim grins. "Just imagine what I'll be like when I'm 80."

"I would rather not."

"Let's go outside in the snow." Jim says, craning his neck to look out the window behind him. "Isn't it illogical to not participate in a planet's cultural conditions? It's the first rule of diplomacy."

I fight a smile. "I doubt the treaties and agreements between Terrans and Vulcans would dissolve if I do not go outside and 'play' in the snow with you."

"I dunno," he says slowly. "I have some pull in the Federation."

I tilt my head. "And you would use your influence to convince Terrans to kick Vulcan out of the Federation?" I say amused.

"Sounds like a good plan to me, and once I put my mind to something, I'm pretty good about getting what I want."

I raise an eyebrow. "Or you will begin to have a temper tantrum?"

He beams. "Yep!"

I place my book on the end table and stand. "If you wish to act like a child, I will merely have to treat you like a child," I say as I pick him up by the waist and put him over my shoulder.

"Hey!" Jim laughed, struggling but not in earnest. "What are you doing?"

"I am placing you in timeout," I inform him.

"Timeout?" he asks, stilling. "Can't you just spank me instead?"

My mouth twitches to a smile as I take him into the bedroom. "We shall see."

* * *

**Author's note:** This totally ran away from me. It was supposed to be a 'play in the snow' fic. Then a glasses fic. Then a snow fic again. Posted for Shannon who is all sick and beat-up looking. (By the way, not doing a spanking fic. Totally don't like those.) And remember when Jim told him to think about him when he's 80? *hint hint*

Peachly


	20. Porch

I have a substantial amount of patience. Even when compared to other Vulcans, who in actuality have little tolerance for illogical or emotional beings. I believe it developed by being in almost constant company with humans. I do not think it would be incorrect to say that it was a very large factor in my success as a First Officer to a very impulsive Captain. A Captain who thought logic was synonymous with boring and attempted to do the most outrageous things for no other reason than that it "seemed like a good idea at the time." Yes, my patience withstood many years with him.

But at the moment, Jim is wearing my patience very thin.

I snatch the wooden stick from his hands and continue walking up the stone path.

He looks at me shocked. "You can't just take away an old man's cane!"

I stop and turn to him, giving a small frown. "You do not need it. You are more than capable of walking without aid."

He glares back at me.

"If you insist on brandishing this cane like an inebriated, rapier-carrying Sulu, I will no longer allow you to carry one," I warn.

He pouts but it does not affect me quite like it once did. He huffs. "That used to work a lot better when I was younger. Don't tell me I'm not cute anymore."

"You were neva cute," Leonard retorts from the porch of his house, rocking in his chair and sipping from a mint julep.

Jim turns and scowls at him. "I was incredibly cute!" He turns back to me. "Wasn't I Spock?"

I raise an eyebrow but before I can respond the former doctor interjects. "You can't ask a Vulcan 'bout what's cute. They wouldn' know cute if it jumped up an' slapped him in the face."

"I could say the same of you concerning reason and logic, doctor," I say dryly.

Leonard gives a small growl. "Why you little green-blooded–" he started.

"Ah!" Jim sighed jovially as he collapses back into a rocking chair near the doctor. "Just like back on the _Enterprise_," he says nostalgically.

We both raise an eyebrow to him.

Jim looks back and forth between us. "What's with you two and your weird eyebrow powers?"

Our eyebrows only rise higher. Leonard soon rolls his eyes. "What the hell are you talkin' 'bout?"

"It's like the only thing you two have in common," he points out. "Besides having an awesome, adorable friend, of course."

Leonard groans. "Nobody thinks that you're either of those thin's," he snaps.

"Aw," Joanna says as she walks out onto the porch from the house. "I think you're very awesome and adorable, Uncle Jim."

He beams at her.

Leonard groans. "Don' encourage the man, Jo."

Jim grins at him. "You should listen to your daughter more, Bones. She's a very intelligent woman."

"An' you're a right pain in my ass."

"Dad!"

He scowls and gives a dismissive gesture. "Don' go scoldin' me, child. Now, go get these people a drink. Jim's more bearable when he's had some booze in him."

"Allow me to assist you," I say and follow her into the house. "I find the same occurs when Leonard imbibes alcohol." I ignore the shout from the doctor.

We enter the kitchen and she smiles at me as she opens the liquor cabinet. "How have my two favorite uncles been?"

I give a small nod. "We have been very well, thank you."

She smiles to herself. The resemblance to her father is rather remarkable. She looks much like Leonard did at forty. She has a round face and brown hair beginning to gray and very tired expression. She also became a doctor in Starfleet. The only major difference is that her personality is quite pleasant while his… is not.

"They haven't changed much," she comments.

The corner of my lips twitches up. "No, they have not."

"I remember when Jim was captain and dad was CMO of the _Enterprise_," she says. "I would visit sometimes. You remember, right?"

"I do."

"I always thought Jim was so silly," she confesses as she grabs two of the newly made drinks and hands them to me. "He always made me giggle. Dad always sort of hated it but also sort of loved it since he was glad to see me laugh." She grabs the other two and we walk back to the front of the house.

"I envy you, Bones," I hear Jim say as we exit the house and I move to stand beside him.

"Why's that?" he grunts.

"You have the crotchety, old man thing down pat."

Leonard scowls and throws the sprig of mint from his glass, hitting Jim in the side of the head and landing on his shoulder.

"Actually," he continues, ignoring the doctor's assault. "You've had it down for years. You've been grumpy as long as I've known you."

"You've been an idiot as long as I've known you," he grumbles.

Jim sighs. "Love you too, Bones." He looks up at me and grins. "Oh, Spock. Don't worry, I love you more."

"I was not worried," I assure him as I hand him his drink. "I do not perceive Leonard as a threat in any way."

Leonard grumbles but does not appear to actually say any distinguishable.

"If you could repeat that, doctor?" I ask, amusement plain in my voice.

"I don' think you'd really want me to, hobgoblin."

"We should play a game," Jim says.

Leonard snorts. "Like what?"

He thinks a moment. "Shuffleboard."

"Shuffleboard?" Joanna asks, confused.

"Shuffle– Jim, what the hell is the matter with you? Just because we're old as hell doesn' mean we gotta do boring shit."

"We also do not have the proper equipment," I point out.

"This is all your fault," the doctor says, pointing at me. "You never discourage him. You can't say 'no' to this kid, can you?"

"Hey!" Jim says defensively. "I'm not a kid. I'm an old man trying to live out the twilight years of my life by reminiscing and doing weird not-fun things but making them seem fun because I'm dead inside."

Leonard stares. "You make less and less sense with every word that comes out o' your mouth, you know that?"

"Horseshoes," he suddenly blurts out.

He glares at him for a long time before grunting and standing up. "Fine, but only so you don' suggest somethin' more asinine."

"Like pushing a wheel down a dirt path with a stick?" Joanna suggests.

"Ooo!"

Leonard knocks Jim on the side of the head. "No."

* * *

**Author's note:** This one is weird. I dunno if I like where it went... oh well! With Joanna in here, I feel like I should do a family fic, where Jim and Spock have a kid/kids. I don't like really like mpreg too much, but I love reading about them having kids. I love little Vulcan children who are trying really hard to be Vulcan-like but failing adorably, i.e. Jim mentions candy and they get all excited, but then they see Spock looking at them all stoic with an eyebrow raised and they calm down and say in the most emotionless voice they can muster, "Candy has no nutritional value; however, if you insist, Father..."

Thanks for reading and reviewing!! (Twenty chapters?! Hallelujah!)

Peachly


	21. Heat Stroke

"How did you not notice?" Dr. McCoy growls.

I feel myself blush green. My spine is straight and I wring my hands nervously behind my back. "I was… preoccupied."

He grimaces. "I don't need that image in my head."

I raise an eyebrow. "I gave you no image."

"No, but I sure as hell know what's you're implying."

I feel my flush deepen. "I made no implications."

He glares at me. "Look, you–"

"Bones!" Jim snaps from the biobed and attracts the irate doctor's attention. He is wearing only pajama bottoms (without underwear) and has a cold compress on his forehead and covering his chest. "Stop blaming him. It's not his fault. How was he supposed to know it was going to happen?"

"Because it's _logical_," he says and turns back to me. "Having sex with a _Vulcan_ in a room programmed for a Vulcan's comfort zones is just _asking_ for a heat stroke!"

I am grateful that it is Gamma shift, and therefore the sickbay is empty of others that are not sedated.

"I'm very distracting, Bones," he says, a smirk on the corner of his mouth.

The doctor rolls his eyes.

"And Spock got me here as quickly as he could when he realized something was wrong. And I mean, come on. This _can't_ be the worst sex-related injury you've had to treat."

McCoy cringes. "No, it's not," he concedes begrudgingly.

"That's pretty much all you do after shore leave. Treat people for alien STDs and take weird objects out of their–"

"Alright!" he interrupts. "This was still idiotic. And preventable."

"Yeah," Jim says and sits up. The cold compress from his chest falls to his lap and he moves to the side table. "So we'll make sure it doesn't happen again. Right, Spock?"

I nod. "I will not allow it to occur a second time."

"See?" Jim says, smiling. "And he's very reliable about these things." He takes the cloth from his head and puts it onto of the other one before swinging his legs around and hopping off the biobed.

"Wait a damn minute," McCoy snaps and puts his hand on Jim's shoulder to keep him from leaving. "I did not discharge you."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm _fine_! I'm not hot or dizzy anymore. Take my temperature if you want, but I feel better so I'm leaving."

They both glare at each other for a moment before the doctor points to the bed.

Jim frowns, but sits on the bed without further opposition so that the display above the bed registers his life-signs.

"Alright," McCoy says after studying them a minute. "While your internal temperature is still a little high, it's not life-threatening anymore." When Jim jumps from the bed with a smile, the doctor points his finger at his bare chest. "But you're _done_ for the night and don't even think about going anywhere near Spock's room. Go to your own quarters."

He nods and herds me out of sickbay, followed by McCoy's grumblings.

We only see three crewmen on our way back to the Jim's quarters. They do not give us much regard. Our newly-formed relationship is not well known except for a choice few; however, it is not unusual to see us walking the halls in such a state of dress after sparring together in the gym. Jim still has perspiration from his body's attempts to cool its self, aiding in the illusion.

When we arrive at the deck containing the officers' quarters, I slow down in front of the door to my quarters. "Perhaps I should allow you to rest," I suggest.

"Naw, come on," Jim says and grabs my upper arm, and I allow him to drag me to his own quarters. I stand in the doorway to his sleeping area as he collapses onto his bed. I shift my weight slightly and do not move closer.

He looks at me. "You okay?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I was not the one whose life was threatened."

"No, but you look tense." He motions me closer. "Let's go to sleep."

I hesitate, guilt gripping me. "I do not think touching you would be wise."

He rolls his eyes. "You're not going to make me sick."

"I was a contributing factor to your illness, and therefore–"

"Spock," he interrupts. His eyes are soft. "Bones was overreacting, okay? It wasn't you're fault. We just didn't consider how hot your room was."

I tilt my head. "I believe I should sleep in my own quarters tonight."

"Then I'm just going to follow you in there," he says in a way that reminds me of a stubborn child.

The corners of my mouth twitch down. "You are far too reckless concerning your own health."

He gives me an expectant look.

I hesitate again before approaching and sitting on the edge. After a moment, he wraps his arms around my chest and pulls me further onto the bed. He lays my back against his chest and I tense.

He kisses my temple and I get a clearer sense of his emotions: amusement and comfort. "Calm down, Spock. This isn't the first time we've slept in the same bed together. I never got sick before; this time should be no different."

"You did not suffer from a heat stroke the previous times."

"I'm fine. I promise." He nuzzles behind my ear.

I exhale heavily and turn in his embrace. I place an arm over his chest and rest my head on his shoulder. I place my palm over his heart. His heartbeat is much slower and his skin feels cool to the touch again. I relax against him, much of my apprehension dissipated.

I feel his chin on my forehead. "See? I'm fine. No harm done."

I shift slightly. "If you begin to feel ill, you will tell me. If you feel hot, you will remove me from your person." Neither are questions.

Warm air from a silent laugh is blown on my hair. "I will."

It does not take long before he asleep, his breath and the tempo of his heart growing slower. I consider retreating back to my room, but I doubt I would be able to depart the bed without his notice, and I should not leave him providing that he may grow ill once again. It is only logical that I stay. His comfortable embrace as little to do with it.

* * *

**Author's note:** Since so many people wanted to read about Jim getting a heat stroke. Bones is a little bit more grumpy than I meant him to be, but I figure it's early in their relationship and he hasn't come to term with the fact that they're doing it. Not that he ever does. It's actually kind of funny, because in TOS, Bones always looks so amused when Jim gets laid. I guess him getting laid by the annoying hobgoblin overrides his 'high-five, way to go, bro' mentality.

Peachly


	22. Explode

"It's educational, I promise," Jim says grinning and glancing to me before looking back to the road. "You'll approve."

I frown slightly. "If I will approve, there is no reason you should keep it secret from me. The fact that you will not tell me our destination only causes me to suspect that I will object."

He rolls his eyes. "There is a completely valid reason. And it isn't because I think you'll disprove."

"Enlighten me," I say, slightly mocking the tone he frequently uses when he speaks the phrase.

"I'm keeping it a secret so it _stays_ a secret. I know you: you can't keep anything from him, especially if he gets worked up enough. You'll come up with some excuse, like it's logical to alleviate his anxiety, and tell him so the surprise is ruined."

I hesitate, knowing I cannot refute the accusation. "He has inherited your pout," I say and look to the backseat on the driver's side.

Sbahnak is bouncing on the seat in anticipation. It is something he had consciously stopped himself from doing earlier, but his mind has wandered and he started again. He is stretched up, attempting to see more out of the window while staying firmly buckled into the children's safety seat. Both lips are held between his teeth. The irises of his eyes are the same blue as those of Jim. His eyebrows are angled closer to that of a Human. His skin is pale, but his red blood shows through his slight pink flush. Pointed Vulcan ears peak out of scruffy black hair. He needs a haircut.

I turn back. "I do not understand why it must be a surprise."

"Are you kidding?" Jim laughs. "When we get there, he's suddenly going to be so excited. He'll be on the verge of exploding."

"No one can explode from excitement, father," Sbahnak chides, schooling his face back to neutrality after he realized he was frowning.

Jim adjusts the rearview mirror to look at our son. "Sure! I saw it happen once."

"Nuh-uh!" He crosses his arms. "It is impossible."

"Yes-huh," Jim grins. "It totally happened. Didn't it?" he asks, glancing to me.

I reach up and readjust the mirror to its initial position. "It was a rather unfortunate event."

Sbahnak's eyes grow wide, and his jaw drops. "It really happened?"

"The Xplohdi experience a major chemical imbalance when they become overly joyful. Their ambassador had never been aboard a starship," I hesitantly explain. "A lieutenant arrived to conduct him on a tour."

"Needless to say, he was thrilled." Jim turns the mirror back. "The poor crewman had to shave _all_ his hair and smelled like onions and sulfur for the next year."

Sbahnak giggles.

I move the mirror again. "It caused a diplomatic incident that nearly resulted in war and Lt. Farrell is still receiving therapy. I see nothing about this that is amusing."

The boy quickly clasps his hands over his mouth to stop his laughter.

"I certainly do," Jim says and reaches for the mirror again, but I send him a warning glare and he retracts his hand. "The guy apparently wasn't well-liked on his planet because eighty-nine more people exploded when it was announced. One of those was his wife."

I can hear Sbahnak's giggles muffled through his hands.

I nod. "It was one reason why their culture has adapted a philosophy much like Vulcans."

Jim slows and makes a right. He has gotten better about driving wisely while our son is in the car. He still drives much too fast for my liking if it is only me with him and even faster if he drives alone, but I have yet to convince him to stop. We soon pass a large brightly colored sign proclaiming a salutation.

I look to Jim with a slight smile on the edge of my lips. Jim beams back.

I approve.

It takes 7.3 minutes to find an empty parking space once we pass the large gate. Once parked, I exit the car and open the trunk to take out the supply pack. It contains a medkit with allergy hypos and bandages, food prepared the night before, snacks prepared this morning, bottles of water, a second pair of clothing (for both Sbahnak _and_ Jim) and a camera.

By the time I walk around the vehicle, Jim has unbuckled our son, placed him on the ground and closed the door. I look down to Sbahnak. He is tense and very still, tightly covering his eyes.

Jim frowns down at him. "What are you doing? Look where we are."

Sbahnak shakes his head, which proves to be rather difficult with his hands over his eyes. "I don't wanna explode."

I glare at Jim for scaring him. A huge grin splits Jim's face despite the fact that he's trying to hide it. He kneels down and places his hands on his shoulders. "No, no! You're not going to explode. It's just Xplohdians who do that."

"But Vulcans have to control their emotions too."

Jim looks up at me with an expression that silently conveys the sentiment, 'haha, this totally wasn't my fault this time'.

I feel rather chastised. I stand straight and make my face and voice stoic. "_Sa-fu,_ you will not explode, regardless of how excited you become."

Sbahnak tilts his head up to look at me but still has his palms over his eyes. "But you said, _sa-mekh_."

"I said we share similar philosophies. I did not say we follow them for similar reasons. Vulcans do not explode. Unless by external means," I add.

Jim sends me a scolding look and mouths 'why would you tell him that?'

"Oh," the boy says, relaxing. "You are sure?"

"Of course," Jim says, giving his shoulders a squeeze. "I've excited your dad_ lots _of times and he hasn't exploded." He looks up at me with a sultry smile, which I meet with exasperation. Jim stands and ruffles his hair, which does not make it look any more disheveled than before. He still needs a haircut.

Our son gives a strong nod before lowering his hands and carefully opening his eyes. He looks up at Jim who grins widely down to him. He hesitates before grabbing onto one of Jim's jeaned legs and peering beyond him.

Sbahnak gasps. "THE ZOO!"

* * *

**Author's note: **Of course I'm going to do when they're at the zoo. Do you really need to ask? Wow. This was _really_ fun to write. Why didn't I think of this sooner? God, should I make a separate family series? I have a feeling Sbahnak is going to take over this one! I made him a bit more human than Spock since he's probably only 1/4th Vulcan. Where did he come from? Test tube baby? Surrogate mother? Adopted? Stork left a basket on the door step? ...Mpreg? I'll leave it up to you guys to imagine. His name means 'red cheeks' in Vulcan.

Yes, it is pronounce 'explodey'. I blame it on the fact I've been playing Ace Attorney, which is full of name puns.

Peachly

P.S. Is it egotistical to 'aww' and laugh at your own writing? I was totally doing both.


	23. Second

Vulcan physiology does not usually generate the same sexual charge humans experience with the joining of the lips. Just as the touching of the middle and index finger does not affect humans the same way as it does Vulcans. Connecting fingers is to Vulcans as connecting lips are to humans; connecting fingers is to humans as connecting lips are to Vulcans. There may be a slight rush from the mere physical contact, but nothing as intense. As it had been with Nyota.

She would touch our fingertips to accommodate me and I would connect our lips to accommodate her. Being half human, kissing does spark a bit more than mere physical contact though not as much as with the joining of our digits. But it felt very… disconnected. It seemed that only one of us should feel anything and the other would need to be satisfied with giving rather than receiving. Because Nyota was human and humans require more emotional reassurance, it was logical that she received more of the contact that pleased her than I did.

When I had been with Nyota, I experienced two kinds of kisses. The first one was a chaste kiss, quick and simple. A touching of the lips that was over as soon as it had started. She used this mostly for a greeting or a parting. Sometimes if we were having a discussion she would feel the urge to grant it either out of mere impulse or if I said something that pleased her, which I confess I never could see the pattern in what pleased her and what did not.

The second kiss was a 'kiss of averages' I suppose I would call it after the fact. It did not last for a very short or long time. The lips did not stay closed but did not open too wide. The play of the tongues, though existent, was minimal. This kiss appeared during the Nero incident for the purpose of comfort. Comforting me when Vulcan and my mother had vanished before my eyes. Comforting her when I was to beam aboard the _Narada_. I did not realize until later how strange it was that this stronger kiss was born from hurt. I had subconsciously connected that kiss to pain. Afterward, when she attempted to initiate this kiss for passion, my chest constricted and a pull in my abdomen drew me away from it. And her.

Jim's kiss was completely different, occurring a year and a half into our professional relationship and had been done in one of his drunken stupors. It was like Nyota's chaste kiss. My mind had not had the time to comprehend the sudden kiss until after the captain had pulled back. But, unlike either of her kisses, that small contact had ignited more in me than I could have thought possible. I felt myself blushing green. A fire burned in my chest as it constricted. Although this constriction had the same sensation as it had been with Nyota, I found myself reacting to it quite differently. With Nyota I found I crawled into myself, grasping tight to my Vulcan heritage; with the captain I felt myself being forced out, pulled by my human heritage.

Jim was oblivious to my reaction. He seemed completely aware of what he had actually done, and indeed he would not remember it the next day. If he had been sober, I knew he probably would have felt embarrassment with his own cheeks flushing as well. If he had been sober, it probably would not have happened in the first place.

When the shuttle breaches the Chi Sigma IV atmosphere and turbulence ceases, Jim give a loud, exasperated sigh and switches the controls to automatic to cruise back to the _Enterprise_. He sits back in his chair. "That was a disaster."

I nearly open my mouth to refute the statement, but that would be lying. After five long days of hard work, the Axians suddenly changed their minds completely, deciding to not join the Federation. Nothing we could do or say managed to deter them from their inexplicable decision. "Indeed."

I glance at him from the co-pilot's seat. We are alone. His smell fills the small shuttlecraft, and for the first time in my life I feel claustrophobic. I have to consciously keep my heart rate from increasing. It has been 4.2 months since Jim had kissed me, and I cannot help but contemplate the occurrence frequently. I can name the feelings Jim's kiss caused in me all those months ago. I know what they meant. But I am unsure as to what they truly implicate.

Was it my feelings or Jim's that caused it?

Perhaps my physical being is just as receptive to kissing as humans. That would mean that any love I thought I possessed for Nyota was very minimal to what I felt for the captain. That what I thought had been love had only been mild fondness for her, but I did not think that I ever felt anything other than a strong friendship for Jim. I would admit that he was physically attractive, though I would not have used the phrasing he usually used to describe himself, which was 'smokin' hot'. I had never contemplated a more intimate relationship with him. Therefore I marked this possibility as invalid and considered the alternative.

He is a highly emotional being and will rarely hide his feelings. As Dr. McCoy puts it, although I do not understand it, he 'wears his heart on his sleeve'.

A part of his natural leadership seems to steam from the fact that the mood of a room with change to mirror his own. I had heard the phrase 'when the captain is not happy, no one is' but had never experienced it under Admiral Pike. The atmosphere of a room would shift slightly if merely for the fact that a superior officer was on the bridge. Captain Kirk seems to personify this phrase. He normally enters the bridge in a happy mood, which causes everyone else's spirit's to lift. On the occasions when he enters in a foul mood, the bridge becomes tense. This ability to influence everyone within his vicinity is even more impressive in a time of crisis. He does not panic and so his crew does not either.

I am not immune to his influence. I had found myself reacting as well, although in my own more subtle way. I felt his anger when he reappeared after I had marooned him, his confidence when we had been within the belly of the _Narada_, his boredom when we attended diplomatic parties and his wanderlust or suspicion when we beamed down to the surface of a planet. Perhaps it was _Jim_ who felt the overpowering feeling of love towards me and it was I who instinctively reciprocated. This would explain why he kissed me.

This knowledge however does not quell my apprehensions. That burst of emotion had left a dent within me. It was a dent that only seemed to grow as I become hyperaware of every smile he gave me, any brush of skin, accidental or not, and every ring of laughter. I began an attempt to avoid him when it was appropriate and to limit our interactions to those in the line of duty. But I found myself yearning for his presence. For as illogical a being as Jim was, I could not imagine him any other way. As highly as I held Surakian teachings and Vulcan philosophy, I began to appreciate Jim's overly emotional states. I appreciated his impulsiveness and aggressiveness as it complemented my logic and passiveness.

The strong feelings this golden being feels for me are illogical and I, for the first time, feel shame for labeling it as such. As a human, I feel shame for attempting to reject something as pure and strong as the love he had for me. But as a Vulcan, I feel shame for feeling that shame, for feeling anything toward him at all. The conflict has begun to affect my performance as First Officer and has not gone unnoticed by Jim, although he has never directly questioned me about it. Until now.

Jim leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looks over to me. I hesitate for as long as I can before returning his gaze and my chest constricts. "You've been acting a little strange lately, Spock."

I raise an eyebrow. "That is a relative term, Captain. What is strange to you may not be strange to another."

"Alright. Allow me to rephrase," he says patiently. "You haven't been acting yourself lately."

I look to the view screen. "As I have the inability to be another being, I do not see how that is possible."

"Come on, Spock!" he says, his voice full of exasperation. "Don't get all evasive on me. You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about." He pauses for a moment, setting his jaw. "_Your behavior patterns have altered, and I am asking for the cause because I cannot infer a logical reason for these changes._"

I look back to him. It has been a year and he still does not cease to impress me with his intellect. I must make a more conscious effort to remember this. It can be difficult when he continuously acts as if he has a low aptitude levels.

When I do not respond, Jim loses patience. "Say something."

"What is it you would like me to say?" I evade.

He leans forward slightly, and it is all I can do to sit still; I am unsure if I am preventing myself from leaning towards or away from him. "What's wrong?"

"I do not know what–" I begin.

He gives a loud frustrated groan, throwing his arms up before standing and walking to the back of the shuttle. I do not follow, choosing to sit and look out the view screen. I do not want to make him angry with me, but if I cannot keep myself away, it would be logical to have Jim start to distance us instead.

"I mean, do you hate me or something?"

I find myself looking back at him. His blue eyes show hurt and I must suppress my guilt. "No," I say simply.

"Then why are you avoiding me? Did I… Did I offend you somehow? Am I just annoying you suddenly?"

I rise and walk back to stand before him. "No."

"Then what is your problem?"

I do not respond once more. I do not know what to say.

"You're beginning to be a pain in the ass and I want to know why!" Jim shouts.

I consider all of what I have inferred. That this man loves me, even if he does not show it, and I have found myself loving him, even if I am afraid to admit it. I am Vulcan and therefore must suppress these feelings. We are fellow officers commanding a ship, and therefore should not fraternize, as it could harm the status of the ship. Our personalities are so very different that the only person I find myself disagreeing with more is Dr. McCoy. We should not, cannot produce a functional relationship, not even mentioning the fact that we are both male. It is illogical, and yet, using the advice I had received in a shuttle bay in San Francisco, I made my choice.

Before I could have a chance to reason myself out of my decision, I quickly lean forward and press my lips against his, causing him to freeze and his anger to turn to shock. It is chaste and short, but in that short amount of time, I am quickly bombarded with his emotions. His feelings are even stronger than the last time and they swallowed me, penetrated me. My distraction with the overpowering feeling cause me to be caught off guard as Jim suddenly backs me against the wall of the shuttlecraft. He connects our mouths once again, parting my lips and surging heat within me as I feel his tongue against my own.

For the first time, I fully give into my human half.

* * *

**Author's note:** Wow, so it's been like... a month. D: Sorry, guys. I keep coming up with new ideas and writing them down, then I loose steam and come up with a new one and begin to write it down the loose steam. Of course I can't seem to make myself finish anything. I also have some ideas for longer chapter stories that I need to bring myself to write down. It's hard for me since I can never write something from the beginning to end. I always write different scenes and pieces then connect them all together. Even for In the Name of Glove, the first thing written was Chp4 haha. I swear, the beginning is usually the second to last thing I write. I'll try harder though, promise!

Hope you like this, and my interpretation of the SU break up. It's a two for one special: the second and third kiss are in here, hahah! (And it's the 23rd chapter. How freaky is that?!)

Peachly


	24. Sick Jim

Jim groans and sniffs as he grips my waist tighter. "What a time to be sick," he grumbles.

I brush my fingers through his hair, which had become oily and limp as a result of his illness. We have been lying in bed for most of the day after Jim became infected with a virus at the last planet. "It is rather unfortunate that you are allergic to the antidote."

He sniffs again. "Why'd it have to be during shore leave?"

"Fortunately, it is not obstructing your duty."

"It's obstructing the time I should be having non-stop sex with you." He sniffs a third time.

My eyebrow twitches in annoyance. I reach over and take a tissue, handing it to him. He takes it and makes a rather distasteful sound as he clears his nose before scrunching it up and throwing it across the room.

I frown slightly. "My Vulcan physiology may make me immune to your illness, but that does not mean I wish to clean up your messes."

"I was trying to get it into the trash can. My aim's just a little off 'cause I'm sick." he says, his voice muffled against my shirt.

"Considering the receptacle is on the opposite side of the room, I doubt that."

"Okay, so my memory's a little off too."

I sigh. "Because of your illness, I will not reprimand you further, but I ask you give me your tissues rather than throwing them onto the floor."

"Eww," he groans. "I can't just give you my dirty, snotty tissues."

"I will need to pick them up either way."

He shudders. "T-tissue," he says weakly.

I quickly hand him another and he sneezes loudly into it twice. He lifts his head to look at me. He is very pale. His eyes are puffy and his nose is red and sore. He sniffs but there is still some mucus dripping from his nose. I take his tissue and gently wipe it.

He frowns slightly, though it does not appear to be because I am 'mother henning' him. "I don'like being sick."

"It is not a pleasant experience," I say, taking my thumbs and rubbing his cheeks.

He closes his eyes and hums, leaning into my touch. He places his chin on my chest. "Feels nice," he mumbles. Jim shivers slightly and hugs me closer. "At least we finally found an illness that makes it better to touch you."

"Indeed."

"We could always just do it," he suggests, though half-heartedly.

"You are weak. And I would prefer to get as little nasal mucus on me as possible."

"Yeah, sorry for being all sick and disgusting and ugly-looking."

"There is no need to apologize," I assure him.

He gives a small grunt that I believe is supposed to be a chuckle. "Thanks for not refuting _any_ of that."

"I believe it is acceptable for you to allow your appearance to be less than perfect when you are in such a miserable state. I will, of course, return to expecting high standards in your appearance when you have recovered," I tease.

"Of course," he mutters. "I had no idea you were so shallow."

I hesitate. His nasally voice causes me to be unable to determine if he was using sarcasm or not. "You are aware my fondness for you is not based on your appearance," I say, though it is implied as a question.

He peaks an eye open. "Yeah, I know. Was joking." His voice lacks the irritation many have when they need to explain such things to me, a fact for which I always felt grateful.

I nod.

"You know I only like you for your ears, right?"

I raise an eyebrow at him.

He smirks. "The eyebrows, too," he says before his eyelids flutter and I only just manage to hand him a new tissue before he violently sneezes. "Thanks," he grumbles. "I think you should burn this shirt when I get over this."

I look down at the cotton white t-shirt, which actually belongs to Jim, who made me wear it because he didn't want to get my not inexpensive clothing dirty. There are many dried mucus stains on it. "I agree. I do not believe decontamination would be able to fully neutralize the amount of hostile germs embedded in this clothing."

Jim hums and blinks slowly for a moment. "I'm hungry."

"Do you believe you can consume any sort of food without vomiting?" I ask, concerned. The last time he ate four hours ago, he had not been able to keep it in his stomach for more than 12.3 minutes before needing to rush to the bathroom.

He gives a half-shrug that could be mistaken for a minor twitch. "Dunno. I don'feel any better," he confessed. "But I'm really hungry."

I pause before giving a small nod. "Perhaps you can eat a small amount, and if you manage not to vomit for a period of time, you may try more."

"S'plan," he declares, but does not move.

I maneuver him to sit back against the headboard, the duvet covering his lap. I leave the bed and go to the replicator.

Before I can order, I hear Jim's voice call from the other room. "I want to chew."

I hesitate, taking a moment to realize he is telling me to not get soup. "What is it you would like to chew?" I ask, only having ever heard of chicken noodle soup as the Terran stable food of the ill.

There is quiet for a moment. Jim sneezes. "A grilled cheese sandwich. And tomato soup."

I turn and open my mouth to tell him that he cannot chew tomato soup, but I decide against it. If he wished for tomato soup, I would oblige him. Even if it contradicts his previous statement.

Once the replicator sounds, I take the food and bring it out to him. I sit on the edge of the bed and place the tray on the nearby nightstand. He looks at it blankly for a long time, as if deciding whether he actually wishes to eat it, before he takes one half of the cheese sandwich and dips it into the soup, thereby answering my question as to why he wanted it. He takes a large bite. Then another.

Before he can take the third I reach out and stop him from dipping it in the soup. "I believe you should allow the food you have already ingested to settle before eating anymore."

He gave me a look that told me he was still really hungry and I suppressed the urge to indulge him. He should not be eating any more whether he is still hungry or not.

"Do Vulcans ever get sick?" Jim asks, putting his sandwich down.

"Of course, although my copper-based blood makes me less susceptible to the same illnesses as humans with iron-based blood. It is true vice-versa. Therefore, unless I am directly exposed to an illness that can infect me, it would not last long enough among this human-majority crew to reach me. It only appears that I never become ill."

"Lucky," he mutters. "I should go live with Vulcans."

I raise an eyebrow. "I do not believe you would be able to live among only beings that do not feel emotions."

He smirks weakly. "I couldn't live with them, or they couldn't live with me?"

I tilt my head. "That is a valid argument."

Jim opens his mouth to speak again but stills, a frown forming on his face as he looks straight ahead, although not focused on anything. He suddenly makes a loud groan in the back of his throat. I quickly rise and help him to the bathroom just in time for him to empty the newly eaten contents of his stomach into the toilet. I rub his back consolingly, thankful that my Vulcan physiology does not allow me to vomit, or the sounds may have prompted me to involuntarily choke.

He holds tightly onto the cistern of the toilet. "I don'like being sick," he mumbles.

I lean forward and kiss the back of his sweat covered neck, making sure to not inhale the unpleasant fumes of the contents of the toilet. "I do not like when you are sick either."

* * *

**Author's note:** I had a stomach virus a few weekends ago. I was miserable forEVER. I wanted to die, and I didn't have a sexy Vulcan to help me out D: Lucky Jim. I never had chicken soup when I was sick. My mom always made grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.

Peachly


	25. Sick Spock

I am sick, and I find myself irritable.

I hike the seven layers of blankets over my head, trying to escape the cold air, which is actually set for 42 degrees Celsius.

I am achy. Sore. Tired but cannot manage sleep. Nauseous even though I do not have the ability to vomit. I shiver even though I feel warm.

Jim is across the room. Through the layers of fabric, I can only just hear Jim's erratic typing on a PADD. He pauses and I can hear the ice in his water glass as it clinks together. He takes a few considerable gulps. The room is very hot to him, but he has made sure to keep himself hydrated. He is there as a comforting presence. To get me anything I require.

I do not want him to be over there. I want him to be beside me, to be wrapped around me much as I had been wrapped around him when he was sick.

But he cannot.

My body temperature is far too high for him to touch me for long periods of time while in this high-temperature environment.

Also, my mind is too erratic. I cannot hold my mental shields while in such a state. I would be greatly influenced by Jim's emotions, which would most likely not be detrimental as his mind is calm and cooling; however, although our bond weak, my own emotions would also travel to Jim.

And I am irritable.

I grunt.

"You say something?" Jim suddenly asks.

"No," I call out, but say, "Come here."

There's a short silence before I hear him get up and walk over. He hums questioningly and it sounds like he is crouched down.

I move the covers and wince when the light hits my eyes.

I feel fingers brush against my face and wisps of his contentment tease me. "You okay?"

I pull the covers up to under my nose. They smell strangely musty. "Your hands are too cold," I accuse.

"Maybe it's your _forehead_ that's too hot," Jim suggests.

I pause. "It is plausible," I say begrudgingly.

"You should get sick more often. I win more arguments this way." I can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Do you wish for more victories at arguments or more sex?" I ask.

Jim's fingers still. "Well, when you put it that way…" he concedes. "Is that the trend for how much you allow me to seduce you? The more arguments you win, the more sex you give me?"

"I never considered it, but I would not rule that out as a possibility," I say, a small smirk on my face that I'm too tired to prevent.

"That's just going to make me try and argue with you more on things I know that are wrong so I can get more rollin'-'round-in-bed time."

"Your annoyance factor weighs more heavily on the probability you will get sex."

"Touché. I'll just have to work out more in the gym to offset it."

If I was not already bright green from illness, I knew I would blush at that. Jim emits a rather… interesting smell after he has participated in an activity that causes him to sweat. I find it extremely irresistible. Not that I would admit it, especially to Jim. "I allow you more sex than is necessary," I snap.

He snorts. "Maybe by Vulcan standards. _My_ standards, you're very stingy."

"We would need to quit our jobs to meet your standards."

"Doesn't sound like a bad life to me."

"It does to me." I pull the covers over my head, blocking Jim's touch.

There's a pause before a feel a small dip where I assume Jim put his arms on the edge of the bed. Most lightly with his chin resting on his forearms. I like when he looks like that, but I refuse to remove the covers.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing," I say quickly.

"Are you always this grumpy when you're sick?"

I scowl and am grateful for the covers. "You were mopey when you were sick."

"Just asking. I know. You're sick. You're allowed to be grouchy."

"I am not grouchy," I say defensively.

"Of course not," he says, placating. "You're as grouchy as Bones is after shift."

"Do not insult me. Leave me be," I groan.

Jim pulls other covers suddenly from my face, and I flinch at the cold air. My eyes shut tightly. I feel a lingering kiss to my temple and, although I had not realized I was tense, feel my body begin to relax. "You want anything?" he asks in a quiet voice.

"What I want, you can not give me."

"And what is that?"

"Your mind," I say, attempting to mumble my words so he does not understand them and maybe he will leave and I can stop being such a nuisance.

"Why can't I give you that?" he asks.

"It would be uncomfortable for you." Vulcan healers, or loved ones, would often meld with the sick to calm them, but Jim's mind is not disciplined enough to enter my mind and remain unaffected.

"So?"

"Jim," I begin to say warningly before he palms my cheek puts his forehead against mine. I inhale deeply as his mind finds its way to mine and they begin to intertwine. His mind feels like the first breath of fresh air I have taken in days. It is finding a cool creek after trudging through a humid jungle for days on end. My muscles melt. I suddenly feel warm.

I feel his forehead twitch against my own and know he is feeling discomfort, if not pain. I try to pull back, but he moves his hand to the back of my head, and in my weakened state, I cannot move away.

_Jim,_ I think, pleading him to stop.

Instead, never disconnecting our minds, he crawls onto the bed and lies next to me. I sense his movements through our mind more than feel the weight against me through the covers.

_I'm not stopping until you're asleep. _

His stubbornness is endearing and annoying.

_Like you should be one to talk about stubbornness, Kitten._

_Do not call me that… Is that truly how you refer to me in your mind?_ I wonder horrified.

_Only when I want to annoy you. Once you're relaxed and asleep, I'll stop,_ he repeats.

_I do not want to harm you._

_I don't want you to be so uncomfortable._

I hesitate, but sigh and relent. I find myself relaxing again at his calm mind and content emotions. If Jim wishes to be a fool, there is nothing I can do to stop him in his state.

I feel his triumph at my defeat and his scoff at my notion that he is fool. I do not know if he physically flicks the tip my ear or only thinks about it, but I feel it either way.

* * *

**Author's note: **Sorry it's been so long. I'm not managing to write these things as fast as I'd like.

This seems a little OOC for Spock, but I totally picture Spock being a completely grumpy/irritable sick person. And Spock is such a liar. He gives into Jim no matter how annoying he gets.

Peachly


	26. Pointy Eared Bastard

"Jesus, Jim. You look like you're about to cry and you're not even the one hurt."

"I know… but," Jim points at Dr. McCoy's hand with a deep frown.

"He isn't dyin'. Half a centimeter and he'd have half his skull gone."

I raise an eyebrow. "I would prefer that you hurry, Doctor. The longer you wait, the higher the probability that a scar will remain," I advise.

McCoy scowls at me. "You think I don't know that?"

Jim looks at him horrified. "Then what the hell are you waiting for?"

He turns his glare to Jim. "For you to get out of my way!"

I believe it was the first time I have even seen Jim back away without a fight.

"Unbelievable," McCoy mutters under his breath as he takes out the dermal regenerator. He leans down and examines the right side of my head for a moment where the top of my ear had been shot off in a laser fight. How Jim had managed to find the top half while we were all ducking from fire is beyond my comprehension. Although I cannot say that I am surprised he did; he has a rather strange fondness for my ears.

I stop myself from wincing as McCoy positions the dismembered helix to begin mending. The dermal regenerator always stings slightly but it is nothing I cannot suppress. It takes only 9.1 minutes for my ear to be completely healed.

"There. You're still a pointy-eared bastard," McCoy says as he puts the regenerator down. He wipes off the dried green blood with sterilization fluid soaked into a cotton ball and examines his work, bending the ear to look at the medial side. "Unless you have another shallow scrape you want me to bandage and kiss better, I have patients with holes in their lungs."

I look at him dryly. He had looked after his other patients before coming to me. Even Jim's imploring did not bring him to me faster. "I am adequate, doctor," I say as I stand. "Although I do not believe a kiss will heal any injury."

He gives me a toothy grin and puts his hand to his chest. "What about a broken heart, huh?"

"I believe surgery would be more effective," I say, pretending to not know what he is talking about.

He rolls his eyes and shoos me with his hand.

"Of course if it was possible," I muse, "I believe I would prefer to receive kisses from someone other than you."

McCoy grimaced. "Go, before I end up giving you more than scratches."

"Threatening a fellow officer, doctor?" I ask, pretending to sound affronted.

"Out," he snaps.

I hide a smirk and walk out of the room.

Jim stands to the side of the sickbay looking anxious, fidgeting slightly. I did not fail to recognize the familiarities to when he is standing outside an operating room.

He visibly brightens when he sees me.

I stand before him.

"All fixed?" he asks.

I nod. "If you wish you may inspect it yourself," I say and continue out of the sickbay, knowing Jim would follow me. "May I ask how exactly you found my ear?" The ambush did not allow for anyone more than three inches off the ground, let alone search for a small object among the dust and debris from the initial blast that collapsed half of the building.

"I saw where it flew off to and it happened to be on top of most of the rubble," Jim explained, which sounded probable. "Or maybe I just have a sixth sense for pointy-ears and psychically found it." Which did not sound probable at all.

Once we return to his room, he herds me onto the couch. I sit and he climbs on top of my lap. He tilts my head. I had been joking about offering to allow him to examine it, but he seems to have taken it to heart.

"If you continue to react in such a way, I may begin to believe you are only with me for my ears," I say, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course I am. I told you that already," Jim says, a grin growing on his face.

"Ah yes," I say with a hint of amusement. "And I believe you surmised I was only with you for your posterior."

Jim chuckles. "My posterior," he mumbles lowly shaking his head. "Yeah, I know I have a great ass. And you have great ears." He rubs a finger along the faint line where the two parts were connected.

"And how are they better than the ears of others?"

"They're pointy," he says with a shrug. "And I guess hearing well can be sexy in a way."

"Pointed ears are normal for Vulcans," I remind him.

"Yeah, but they're the only pointy ears on this ship."

"I see," I say slowly. "What if another Vulcan came aboard?"

"I'd still probably be drawn to your ears over theirs."

"How exactly do you decide on the best ears? You have a preference for ears with the sharpest angle?"

"Naw, it's not the angle or anything. Your ears are just perfect. And then there's all that gray matter in between them that's pretty sexy too."

I feel myself blush at the compliment.

Jim brushes a finger down the shell of my ear and I suppress a shiver. "Glad to see it's still as responsive as before."

"I may aggravate McCoy often, but he is a very competent doctor."

"Do you really want to talk about Bones, right now?" Jim asked, a hot breath causing my grip on his waist to tighten momentarily.

"Perhaps not. You would rather speak about my auditory ski–" I begin but cut off by a sharp intake of breath when I feel the tip of my ear licked.

"Forget the talking. I just want to listen to you moan."

* * *

**Author's note:** When I originally wrote this, it turned into a huge and rather nasty argument between them about Jim's obsession with his ears. After a page of this, I realized, "Yeah, this is supposed to be fluffy. This is _not_ fluffy." So I changed it. And am I the only one who thinks Bones is a bit of a hopeless romantic? It's hard to tell in the movie, but he always rather struck me as one in TOS.

News: I posted a new series called **Sbahnak** about our adorable little 1/4th Vulcan. It has Explode as well as a brand new chapter. So if you liked Explode, make sure to alert to it because I'll be posting all my family stories/chapters there.

Peachly

P.S. So this is the 26th chapter and there are over 400 freaking reviews (Which, holy shit. You guys are awesome!). I was wondering what everyone's favorite chapter was. Just curious. Tell me yours, maybe I'll tell you mine.


	27. Muddy

"So, what exactly did we just do?" Jim asks.

I shift. We are both naked, sitting in a large man-made puddle of mud in the middle of a large hall, now empty and quiet after being vacated of the previous crowd of Lorianqt. The ritual had involved chanting, singing, dancing, a short speech and a friendly nod before the priests herded out the rest of the temple patrons and crewmembers, leaving us alone in our current state.

I glance over to Jim. He looks far more amused than I feel. A blue and gold feathered headdress adorned his head. A layer of dark brown mud, which is beginning to dry to a light tan, covers simple jewelry and the colorful drawings and marks the natives painted on his chest and arms and legs and… places no one should touch except me. If I wished to admit the possessiveness I feel, I would say that I should be the only one to be allowed to touch _anything_. If I wished to admit it.

"I am not sure," I say, glancing down to myself. I received the same treatment, though my headdress is smaller with blue and green feathers. Feeling embarrassment for being nude is illogical, but I find I am anyway. Never before had I been grateful for being covered in mud.

"Take a guess," he says, gesturing to the large hall.

I take a moment to recall the ceremony. While this planet's culture is still new and foreign to the Federation, there are some customs performed on many planets that seem different but are fundamentally similar. Given the rituals we were subjected, I come to one conclusion.

"I believe we are married," I surmise.

Jim, who had lounged back in the mud and had been picking some dry mud from his forearm as I thought, whips his head back to look at me in surprise. "Married?"

I nod. "The Lorianqt are particularly strong emotional telepaths. Not only do they have the ability to read the emotions of others, without the need of contact as with Vulcans, but also can detect the cause of or where the emotion is directed," I explain. "I am assuming that they sensed the emotions between us and sought to honor us by holding this ceremony."

A wide, smug grin fills Jim's face. "The _emotions_ between us, huh?"

I give him a pointed look.

"Why, Mr. Spock! Are you admitting you feel emotions for me?"

I choose to ignore the statement and ponder a moment. "It is fascinating that they had an ability to detect my emotions, even when I restrained them," I say,

He rolls his eyes. "You don't exactly hide them all that well around me."

"Perhaps when we are in a more private setting," I correct. "But I suppress my emotions in the presence of others. Especially in formal settings."

He looks skeptical but does not comment.

"While this diverges from the negotiations, I believe the natives will be more inclined to join the Federation and allow some resource rights."

Jim snorts with a small scowl. "And all we had to do is get married. The things we do for Starfleet!"

I look over to him out of the corner of my eye. He sounds… upset. I find myself frowning slightly. "Do you not wish to marry me?"

"What?" he asks, his eyes are wide with surprise and a deep, red flush begins to cover his face under the mud and paint. His mouth hangs open a moment before he finally speaks, quick and rushed. "No! I mean… No! Of course not! That isn't what I meant," he says flustered. "I just… I guess I just never thought about it."

"Never?" I ask.

He sighs and sits up. "If you asked me, I wouldn't hesitate for a millisecond, Spock. I never thought it was that important to you. It's not that important to me."

I open my mouth, but Jim suddenly begins to speak again.

"It's not that I'm not committed to this," he says hastily. "I just don't see why we need some report and a couple of words on our files to know we love each other. And Jesus, what would Starfleet think? They've only just barely started to let off on me. This isn't against the rules, but they're more than aware of my reputation. I'm sure there'd be some internal investigation into fraternization. They could think that I bedded you and had a shotgun wedding because Vulcans don't just sleep with anyone!"

I raise an eyebrow. I found that highly doubtful but am not given an opportunity to say so.

"Then _everyone_ would know and give us funny looks. And our missions would probably exclude all First Contacts and diplomatic missions from now on because some places are still prejudice against this kind of thing. We'd end up doing shitty escort missions and supply shipments for the rest of our commission. Shit, what if we send a request to Starfleet and they reject it and split us up for convenience? What if—"

Seeing no end to Jim sudden cascade of paranoia, I decide I must stop it myself. I quickly lean forward and plant my lips firmly on his, which proves to be an effective silencer.

I pull back slowly to see his still anxiety-filled face before speaking. "Starfleet has no say over our personal lives. Not only would it cause a great amount of controversy, I am more than familiar enough with Starfleet regulations to prevent them from splitting us in any way."

Jim seems to have calmed down. He smirks, though there is less humor than there normally is. "I guess there's finally a good use for your memorization of the rule book.

I resist rolling my eyes. "Whether any of the following occurs or not, we_ are_ married, or at least on the surface of this planet. As this is our wedding night, and undoubtedly our honeymoon as well given the gifts in the hall, why do we not merely enjoy this?"

He grins more sincerely and leans forward, causing me to lean back as he begins to crawl over me. I would not usually voluntarily cover myself with more mud, but Jim always tends to cause such things to seem irrelevant. "Honeymoon… I gotta say that's a nice reason to get married."

"This, of course, is merely to fulfill our obligations to this ritual," I say with a tone of seriousness, but, I am sure, with a glint of humor in my eyes.

"Oh, of course, Mr. Spock," Jim readily agrees.

"After all, we do not wish them to believe we are ungrateful."

"Never!"

"We should–" I begin but am silenced with a kiss.

He took far too long to do so, in my opinion.

* * *

**Author's note: **This is going to sound very strange, but for some reason, I don't like the thought of Jim and Spock getting married. Believe me, I am all for equal marriage rights! I guess I just like their love to be kind of a secret affair where it's just them and no one else knows. Not that they try really hard to keep it secret or are ashamed; they just don't advertise it. I guess I see a wedding as an advertisement.

This was inspired by a Jim/Sulu fic I love about them getting married a bunch of times and one marriage has them covered in mud and feathers. Sulu hated it but I _loved_ the image. Unfortunately, I've lost the link for the story. It's an awesome read and if _anyone_ knows what I'm talking about gimme the link in a review? Please?

Peachly


	28. Better Instructor

"I was under the impression you would be teaching me to swim in the pool on the _Enterprise_," I say, giving Jim a flat look.

"Yeah," he agreed, standing knee-deep in seawater. "But every time we're supposed to have a quite travel time something happens. We've got some time, so why not do it now?"

I suppress a frown and look down to my feet. I dug my toes into the sand. It feels warm and comfortable under my soles. It reminds me in a way of the sands of Vulcan, though here it is softer and damper, especially on the shore.

Water and foam slide up on the beach. The water laps at my ankles and takes the sand surrounding feet with it back into the water.

My analytical mind thinks of the cause: the gravitational fields of the moon and the sun causing the fluctuation in sea levels. The rotation of the planet allows two high and low tides every designated day. While the sun's effects on the tide are far less than that of the moon, it can reinforce the tides the moons cause.

"I would prefer calm water," I say.

"It's a bay, Spock," he said encouragingly as he began backing up. "There's a little movement but there really isn't a lot. Especially compared to a regular beach."

I give a nod. It was true. This water was stiller. For the past two days we have gone to a common public beach where large waves crash onto the shore. While Jim did not spend his entire time in the water, he did go in for an average of 9.7 minutes roughly every 32.25 minutes.

While it was illogical to feel alone in those short periods when he was swimming in the water, I could not help but feel so. I am more conscious of eyes on me. Few aliens have seen the skin beyond above the neck or on the hands, perhaps to the elbow, on a Vulcan. I believe that is the reason they stared. As Jim refused to allow me to wear any clothing that would cover those areas, I was given swim trunks that only covered from the hips to mid-thigh. While I am comfortable in such wear when we are alone, I prefer to wear more in the presence of others.

At least when Jim was with me they did not stare. Or perhaps I was merely sufficiently distracted and did not notice. I would have to remember to observe later. Either way, I would have preferred to go with Jim into the water rather than wait.

Luckily, the secluded bay Jim had discovered from questioning the natives had few people, all of whom did not seem to pay either of us any mind, preferring to read quietly instead. I much I prefer this calm beach to the other noisier one.

I slowly walk further into the water, stopping an average of 2.4 steps to acclimate to the water, which feels colder the further I walk, once more. I finally make it to my waist. My shoulders are lifted and my forearms are at a horizontal position over the water.

I hear a poorly stifled laugh and look up. Jim looks extremely amused. I assume it is because of the tense position my arms are in.

"The water is colder than you lead me to believe," I explain.

Jim sighed, giving me a pointed look. "Is it really that unbearable or are you just whining to stall for time?"

I give a slight glare.

"It's better if you just go in all at once," he says. "Just crouch down."

I consider the advice. "It could be a shock to put so much of my body into such low temperature water."

"Do it and get over here," Jim said, apparently running out of patience. "Or I'm coming over there and dunking you down myself."

Wishing to avoid such a scene, I exhale heavily before quickly bending my knees and submerging myself to my neck. My body tenses from the sensation and I wrap my arms around my torso. I cannot suppress a violent shiver.

Jim easily swims forward towards me. He takes my clenched hands under the water and guilds me forward until we are crouched slightly in water roughly 4.3 feet deep. I shiver again and he pulls me forward, wrapping his arms around my waist to press me against his warm chest. "Still cold?"

I pause a moment before shaking my head in the negative. "Not quite so much as before."

Jim grins before nuzzling against my ear. I turn my head to allow him better access.

"I have never been submerged so fully before."

"Other than that one time?" he asks, amusement coloring his voice.

"Indeed," I say, glancing over to his blond hair with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you think of it?"

I consider my body a moment. The current of the water moving against my skin is much akin to a wind, and yet the force and feeling of it is much stronger. The buoyancy caused by the water lifts both Jim and I up and down, almost giving a feeling of fluctuating gravity. "It is strange," I conclude.

"All that time thinking and that's your response?" Jim asks with a laugh.

"I do not make flippant remarks."

He smiles. "You want to go deeper?"

I look past him to the vast expanse of ocean. I find it daunting. "Not especially," I admit.

He grins. "Alright. We'll just practice floating for now." He drifts away from me. "Put your arms out, take a deep breath and just lift your legs up."

I do as I am told. However, when I lift my legs, I find myself quickly sinking below the water. I quickly stand and shake my head of the excess water in my hair.

"Okay, that didn't work," Jim says.

"Obviously," I say flatly. "I believe my body is too dense to float. Vulcan muscles and bones are heavy and solid do to the conditions of Vulcan."

"Well," Jim says slowly, "you'll just have to kick and move your arms to keep yourself up, I guess."

I raise an eyebrow. "You guess? I was under the impression you knew how to swim."

Jim shrugs. "I do, but that doesn't mean I know how to teach it."

I give him a flat look. "Perhaps waiting for lessons from a more experienced instructor would be best," I say and turn to leave the water. My fingertips have become wrinkled and uncomfortable.

"What? No!" he says and wraps his legs around my waist and his arms around my neck, pressing his chest against my back.

I continue wading through the water, ignoring the weight held onto my back.

"Come on, Spock. Don't just give up. I'm not going to let you die."

I pause before exhaling heavily. "Very well. But think before giving me instructions. I do not wish to be injured."

Jim barked a laugh. "Considering we're in 3 foot water, I doubt you're going to drown, Spock. If worse comes to worse, you can do like you did last time and flail back to the shore."

I give him a heated glare over my shoulder before changing my mind. I walk back onto shore with Jim protesting and clinging to my back the entire way.

* * *

**Author's note: **So, he didn't actually learn to swim... but yeah. I realized I forgot to tell you all my favorite chapter. It would have to be... hmmm Old Man and The Drink, I think. And Motorbike. And the two Sicks. It's hard to say! I'm pretty proud of all of them.

If anyone is interested in the Kirk/Sulu fic, it's _Lie Back and Think of Starfleet_ by curiouslyfic on livejournal. Thanks to K2onAlcatraz for finding that.

Over 500 reviews! My goodness! I could have never thought I'd get so many. So, I've decided since _everyone_ is SO AWESOME that **I will do a oneshot for Reviewers #525, #550, #575 and #600**. It can either be for Illogical or a stand-alone oneshot. It can be Kirk/Spock or any pairing really (although the idea has to be super awesome for me to do any pairing with Chekov). So review away and I will message the winners based on my count. If you don't have an account and are reviewing anonymously and don't give an email or some way to contact, it will go to the reviewer after you. Same if you don't want a story. So get your prompts ready and review away! If the idea is super awesome I may even make it chaptered. Even though I seriously don't need any more WIPs. lol

Thank you to everyone! Peachly


	29. Anniversary

Jim peered over my shoulder at the experiment I was currently running. I could feel his anxious energy flowing from him. I cannot remember him so apprehensive since the last week of our ten-year commission when we were returning to Terra. Although it was not unusual for him to join me in the science building to walk home together, he has arrived much sooner than usual.

"You appear to be upset," I note.

I feel him shrug against my shoulder. "No, not really."

"But something is troubling you."

Jim is quiet for a long moment. "A little bit," he admitted. Years ago, he would not have admitted such a thing without much pressuring.

"Perhaps we should retire early for dinner," I suggest. "I am at a point in my experiment that it can be put on hold."

"Sounds good," he said, although he did not sound as enthused as he usually does when I agreed to leave early with him. "We don't really have an anniversary, do we?" Jim suddenly asks.

"Anniversary for what?" I ask, not looking up from my experiment.

He sighs heavily. "Exactly."

I raise an eyebrow and look over to him. The slight frown on his face has grown more pronounced and his brows are knit together. "I do not understand," I say.

He looks over to me. "Did your mother-" he began before hesitating. "Did she ever make your dad celebrate the anniversary of their marriage?"

I nod, turning back to the vials when I see in my peripheral vision that they began to bubble. "Each year. It was one of the few Terran customs in which my father allowed my mother to indulge."

"I just kind of realized that we don't have that. A day to celebrate how long we've been together." Jim leans on the counter with a small smile. "I never thought I'd want it, especially when we started, but I suddenly do."

I glance over. I do not suggest marriage. While his commitment to me is obvious, he is more comfortable with it not being formalized. As we have been bonded, I have no preference either way. A human might be offended or suspicious, but I am not human. We have already been joined together in a way far deeper than a certificate can show. Of course our bond was not created but spontaneously came into existence over a period of time and therefore is not viable for an anniversary.

I complete the next stage of my experiment before preparing it for stasis. I would not usually leave so early, but if Jim desires my company, I will not hesitate to give it to him. "Perhaps you can choose an important event in our relationship as a date," I suggest.

"Yeah, but I don't remember any of the dates for anything that happened between us," he says.

I give him a pointed look.

He looked slightly sheepish, remembering I can recite the day of almost every single occurrence between us down to the minute. "Another plus to being with a Vulcan," he says with a grin.

"Of which, there are many," I say, causing him to laugh as was my intention. I store the experiment and place the vials in the sanitizer to be cleaned. I don my thick robe as it as been going chilly in these autumn months and meet Jim at the door. He is thankfully grinning, in a better mood than before.

"Alright, what event should it be?" he asks, his arm slipping around my waist as we walk in the deserted hallways of the Academy labs. It is a slightly awkward way of walking as our hips bump every 18.3 steps, but I do not move to extract his arm.

"I am unsure," I admit. "I do not see any one event as more important than any others."

"What about our first kiss?" Jim asked.

"Are you referring to the first time we kissed or the first kiss you remember?" I ask, giving him a pointed look. He continues to claim the first did not count.

Jim snorts in amusement. "Not when I was drunk off my ass. That time you kissed me on the shuttle. We got together after that."

"We avoided each other for 2.3 weeks afterward," I remind him. "You cannot say that was the starting point of our relationship."

Jim removed his hand from my waist when crewmembers could be heard down the hallway. While I am loath to admit it, I dislike the ceasing of our contact. "Yeah, I guess that's true." He pauses. "What about our first date? That dinner on Argelius II?"

"When you consumed avocado and became violently ill for the rest of the shore leave?" I ask.

He grimaces. "Yeah, that wasn't exactly the most romantic moment ever." A sly smirk grows on his face. "How about the first time we had sex?"

I shoot him a glance. "I prefer not to discuss such things here," I say as two cadets pass us.

"What? The amazing sex last night?" Jim says loudly and I hear the cadets that just passed grow silent and slow their steps, most likely to look back at us.

I do not react, although I exhale heavily in exasperation. I have long grown accustomed to Jim's attempts to embarrass me and I no longer blush at such talk. Which, of course, only causes him to try harder. "Do you not grow tiresome of such antics?"

"Never," he grins. "You know I love when your ears and your cheeks become all green."

"Indeed," I say flatly.

Jim chuckles before sighing. "Okay, let's try a different approach. If someone asked you how long we've been in a relationship, what would your answer be?"

"Seven years, 10 months and 28 days," I say without hesitation.

He looked over, surprised at my immediate response. "That was fast. Based on what?"

"It was the morning after the first night we slept together."

He smirks. "I thought you said you didn't want to discuss it here."

"_Slept_ together," I reiterate. "Went to sleep in the same bed. Not had sex."

"Oh," Jim said, his grin slipping. "Why then?"

I consider a moment. "That morning, I awoke 3.2 hours before you. I found you laying half on top of me, pressed against my side with an arm on my chest and a leg between my own, drooling on my shoulder and snoring moderately."

Jim laughs. "And why, exactly, do you consider waking up with me sprawled over you and looking like an idiot the beginning of our relationship?"

I hesitate a long moment before finally admitting, "I was truly happy for the first time in my life." It sounded like a confession of being sad most of my life, but for a Vulcan, who feels no emotions, it merely meant that I felt an emotion so strongly I could not suppress it.

He stops us in the deserted hall and looks over to me with a large grin growing on his face. "You're admitting that?"

I lean forward and press my lips gently against him. "I cannot deny the facts. That would be illogical."

* * *

**Author's note:** Happy Anniversary! One year ago, I posted 'Reading', the very first chapter of That Would Be Illogical. Twenty-nine chapters later and I can't believe how many reviews I've gotten. Thank you so much, anyone and everyone who has read, favorited, alerted and/or reviewed this or any of my stories. I very much appreciate every one!

Again, **Reveiwers #550, 575 and 600** will get stories of their own by me as show of appreciation. Review #525 got _Not So Friendly Nectar_.

Peachly


	30. Pumpkins

"I do not understand the purpose of this activity."

"I'm not surprised," Jim admits as he scoops out more of the innards of the pumpkin and puts it into a white plastic bowl. The smell of the raw pumpkin fills Jim's quarters. I raise an eyebrow and study the contents of the bowl, my hands clasped firmly behind my back. I do not want to touch it.

"If it really bothers you, just consider the fact that we can cook the seeds to make a snack to eat," he says, trying to mollify me.

"And rather than cook the pumpkin, we shall be disfiguring it and placing an open flame inside to create a fire hazard?"

"It won't be a fire hazard," he says as he scrapes the bottom.

"Having lit candles is a fire hazard," I point out.

"They're electric candles," he pointed out smugly. "I've thought out all of the logical arguments your going to make and I've made counter-arguments for them all."

"Why are we doing this?" I finally ask. "Why does one make a jack-o-lantern?"

"Now-a-days, it's for decor, but it used to be to ward off evil spirits."

"There are no such things as spirits," I correct.

"Spock, we just met freaking _Adonis_ a month ago. So maybe there's a chance that all those ancient myths on Earth aren't total bullshit."

"Perhaps not."

He grins wider. "Then, it's to scare off evil aliens posing as spirits."

I give him a flat look. "Why would a race of aliens with superior intelligence and the ability to travel between solar systems be fearful of carved gourds?"

Jim shrugs. "We've met races that have never seen fire before."

I exhale heavily as he lifts the gutted pumpkin and places it in front of me on the paper to protect his desk. He reaches over and takes my wrist to bring up my hand and place a purple crayon into it. I do not bother to ask how or why a Starship Captain would have a box of wax coloring implements normally used by children. "I am expected to carve with a crayon?"

"What? No," he says, rolling his eyes as he sits on his stool with his slightly large pumpkin already hallowed before him. "It's to draw out a picture so you know where to carve so you don't mess it up."

I put the crayon down confidently. "I have no need of it."

"Vulcans and their nonexistent modesty," he says wistfully.

"It is illogical to devalue one's skills, especially when they are considerable," I say, which causes him to laugh like I knew it would.

"What are you going to make?"

I glance down to the smooth, bulbous sections of the orange surface. "The traditional malevolent face, I suppose."

Jim begins carefully drawling on his pumpkin with a blue crayon. "You should at least try to be creative," he chides playfully. "I'd tell you to draw something that scares you, but I know what your answer's going to be."

"I am grateful you have begun to accept this fact."

He snorts. "I don't accept it; I just know that you're in denial and I'm humoring you."

I glance over to him as I pick up the carving knife. If I were a less logical Vulcan I would contemplate using it to maim him. I course I do not.

"Draw something that would scare you if you were human. Fully human."

"Very well," I say. I pause a moment before carefully stabbing the knife through the thick skin and pith.

"Aren't you happy I didn't make you go dress up and trick-or-treating on Deck 6?"

"Vulcans do not feel happiness," I say automatically.

Jim gives me a pointed look.

"Given the choice between these two activities, I prefer this one," I concede.

"I thought Vulcans weren't supposed to have preferences," he says in a matter-of-fact voice as he picks up his own knife and begins to carve his drawing out.

I resist the urge to toss the chunk of pumpkin I just finished carving out. "If one choice is less illogical than the other, a Vulcan will prefer the more logical one."

"So you're saying carving pumpkins is kind of logical," he states.

I raise an eyebrow. "Only based on the fact that roasted pumpkin seeds are more healthy than candy bars." I pause. "I also do not have to dress up as something ridiculous."

"What about sexy?" Jim asked with a smirk.

I glance over to him in fond exasperation. "I would prefer to such apparel to private moments."

He wiggles his eyebrows. "Willing to wear that green tunic we got from those crazy Platonians later?"

I conceal a grin. "Perhaps."

This seems to satisfy him. We carve the rest of our images in silence. Jim finishes first and beams as he leans back and examines the finished product. He stands and picks it and a candle up before taking it towards his bookshelf where he as made space for the two large vegetables.

After I finish, I pick up the other candle and switch it on to flicker yellow before carefully putting it into the pumpkin and replacing the lid. I carefully lift my pumpkin and sit it next to his.

Jim tilts his head to the side as he looks at my pumpkin. "Who is that supposed to be?" he asks. "I can tell it's a face and it looks familiar but..."

I feel the corners of my mouth twitch up. "Dr. McCoy."

Jim's laughter explosively fills his quarters before he takes a holo-image of our two pumpkins, Dr. McCoy and a hypospray.

* * *

**Author's note:** I didn't get to carve pumpkins this year D: So I had Jim make Spock do it! Last time I carved a robot. It wasn't very scary though. I find Plato's Children to be a rather disturbing episode, but I love the costumes in it.

Again, **Reveiwers #575 and 600** will get stories of their own by me as show of appreciation. Review #525 got _Not So Friendly Nectar_ and I'm currently working on #550's.

Thanks for reading!

Peachly


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